The Silence Between the Notes
by Ongaku no Usagi
Summary: It's been almost two years, and Len Tsukimori is finally returning to Japan.  But will Tsuchiura have stolen Kahoko's heart by the time he gets home?
1. Chapter 1

The Silence Between the Notes

a La Corda D'oro fanfic

_by Ongaku no Usagi_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own "La Corda D'oro". This applies to all future chapters of "The Silence Between the Notes".

Movement 1: G dur

It's been almost a year and a half since the last time I saw Tsukimori-kun, since the time after the concert when he stepped out of the taxi and draped his jacket over my shoulders. 

It's been over a month since the last time he called me on my cell to let me know that he was about to start working very hard on his debut tour and wouldn't be able to talk as much.

It's been about a week since they last time I got that short little email from him, once again reminding me that he didn't have a lot of time, and telling me that he'd played the fourth note of the sixty-seventh measure of the Beethoven violin sonata half a comma too sharp, and as a result he felt that his entire debut was ruined.

It's been fifty-four hours and fifteen minutes since the last time he texted me and asked me if I was nervous about starting my first semester at music college in Tokyo.

I feel like it's been forever since the last time I heard from him. 

But he's right about me being nervous about starting music college. For one thing, I'm sure I wouldn't have ever gotten in if Tsuchiura-kun hadn't forced me to practice like crazy for the month before my audition, and hadn't drilled me every single afternoon on reading music so that I'd pass the exam.

Originally, I'd hoped to get into Seisou College, the one affliated with our old high school. Tsuchiura-kun and I both applied for it; he got in, I didn't. I guess I'm just not there yet. So, in spite of my protestations that he go to Seisou, Tsuchiura-kun insisted to coming with me to my second choice college, which is just a prefectural university with an okay music program.

So that's why I'm here, outside the concrete block of an auditorium, looking around in vain for Tsuchiura-kun and peering nervously at the open glass double-doors, into which a mass of fresh music students are pouring. Where is he? The orientation starts in three minutes!

Buzz buzz said my phone in reply, rattling a tin of mints in my purse. I snatched it up.

Text from Tsuchiura-kun:

Hey, Hino, go ahead without me. I'll meet up with you later.

(end text)

Brilliant, just brilliant. I groaned a little as I replaced the phone and peered back at the open doors of the auditorium, feeling like an abandoned puppy. I have to go in there all by myself now? Ugh...

I inched in carefully and sat in one of the front seats, because all the seats back of the front row were already taken. Great. Now, not only am I alone, I feel completely vulnerable. There's something about not having a row of seats in front of you that makes you feel like the person who comes up on the stage is going to thrust you through with a katana. 

I heard a long, irritated sigh from my left as the girl next to me slumped down in her seat and crossed her arms. "Geez," I heard her murmur, "they're taking their time about it. What the heck? Do they think we have nothing better to do than sit here and wait? I have sooo much to do...the Mahler symphony 5 to listen to, a Scriabin piano sonata to analyze...definitely need to get a couple of hours of practice in this afternoon...Don't you?"

Eh? I blinked twice and tried to keep up with her fast pace, even as she immediately plowed into yet another unrelated topic without even bothering to segwey.

"You know what I don't get? Why is the world so crazy about popular music, anyway? It's so boring. They repeat the same chords over and over, just a Pachelbel refrain, it's already been written 320 years ago, and they don't even work over new inversions. Everything's over a root ground bass, and they don't try any counterpoint. How exactly do you write an effective melodic line if you haven't studied counterpoint? Geez...What are you listening to, right now? That's a violin, right? I've been meaning to learn the violin, it would be so handy with composition...it's Mozart, right?"

I scratched the back of my neck awkwardly. It just so happened that I was thoroughly enjoying the new album out by the British band "Muse". Even though I didn't understand all the words, their stuff was so good! The driving rhythm, and the swells of volume...I loved it. But it was hardly the stuff classical music is made of, was it?

"Well..." I started awkwardly, avoiding looking over into her intense gaze.

I was saved as the director strode up to the stage and, bowing to us all, began to deliver his motivational speech at the podium. Judging from the color of what little hair he had, and the flourishes of his speech and random rabbit-trail stories, I could guess that the general content of his speech had been written about 20 years and had evolved, little by little each year.

Don't worry, I won't bore you to death with his ramblings. I'm not planning on listening to them, either.

As I formed my facial features into what I hoped was an interested enough look not to draw attention, and proceeded to phase out mentally, I found myself thinking, What is music?

Hm. Good question, Kahoko.

(pats self on back for managing a good question)

In the days when I had the original La Corda violin, music was just...outpouring of what was in my heart. I heard the music in my head, and it came out through my fingers. Afterwards, of course, I found out the hard way that there's a lot more to playing music than imagining the song.

I had to learn how to read music so that I could play the notes right from the page, how to keep from hitting two strings at once with the bow, and the difference between "on pitch"...and not. Tsukimori-kun coached me over the phone on technique, and Tsuchiura taught me theory and analysis during our after-school study sessions together.

There's still so much to learn...it's overwhelming, sometimes, and I feel like I'll never catch up. But Tsukimori-kun made me promise that I wouldn't give up. So I have to keep doing my best.

Tsukimori-kun...

What is music, Tsukimori-kun? Why do you play every single day, for hours and hours on end, but I so rarely see you smile? Shouldn't music be fun? Shouldn't we enjoy it together? Ah...I wish, just once more, that I could play "Ave Maria" with you, and I could see that far-away, yet vulnerable, look in your eyes again. It's been so long...what am I to do?

I didn't notice my name being called over and over until I felt a nudge from the talkative girl next to me, and I looked up, startled. 

"Ano...what am I supposed to do?" I whispered to her, and she whispered back, "Announce what instrument you play."**  
****  
**I stood quickly, to the giggles of everyone around me, and stuttered, "Ano...I'm a violin major," lifting my violin case emphatically as if to prove my point, and sat back down again. The girl next to me rolled her eyes and slyly pulled out a thin volume on the music theory of the Ancient Greeks.

The rest of my fellow 1styears stood up and announced their instruments, and the director, beaming, introduced the staff. I won't bore you with names. Besides, I couldn't remember them if I tried.

"And now, I hope that you will all work very hard this semester, to improve your technique, your knowledge, and most importantly, how to enjoy classical music with as much passion," here he shook his fist at us as if to inspire us to more passion, and I heard a laugh from a boy a couple of seats down, "as if you were actually playing with the great composers themselves."

He raised a single eyebrow at the boy who laughed, but the kid just slouched further in his seat with a grin. "Well, in any case," he finished up lamely, "everyone, please work your hardest!"

You don't have to tell me that! I'll have to, even if I don't want to!

.

Wandering a little aimlessly after the orientation, I finally spied Tsuchiura-kun striding toward the library, rather detirminedly, it seemed.

"Hey, Tsuchiura. Where were you during orientation?" I asked as I ran a little to catch up to him. He turned his head to smile at me but didn't stop walking as he answered.

"Eh, it's the same old conflict, you know. Soccer versus music. I'm getting a really good scholarship for soccer, so even if I don't have time, I'll just have to make time." He sighed. "You should have heard the 'encouragement' I received from the music department to give up on the soccer. Not enough to raise my scholarship, though."

"You're getting scholarships in both?"

"Yep."

I thought a little regretfully of all the loans my parents had taken out for me. Even though I had some sizeable scholarships of my own, school was still expensive. 

"You're heading to the library already, though? Classes haven't even started up yet!"

He shrugged as he strode up to the glass door and held it open for me. "I have to get a head start. I hate to say it, but I may have to unleash you on your own for a bit. I'm just not going to have very much time."

I felt a little disappointed. I'd really enjoyed studying with him, frantically at times, over the last year, and the fact that we had to end it hadn't occurred to me yet. But he was right, and I knew it.

"Anyway, ganbarimashou, ne?"

"Yup!"

I smiled, trademark, I know. Sometimes a little false enthusiasm doesn't hurt anything. But Tsuchiura-kun wasn't looking at me. He was gazing, frowning a little, even, over at a study carrel in the corner.

Ah, it was that girl from earlier. Now that I could get a better look at her, I could see that she was somewhat plain, neither slender nor volumptuous, with fine, light brown hair that fell over her shoulders messily. She didn't seem to care about what she wore much, or maybe she didn't have a good sense of fashion. Her back was to us, so I couldn't see her face or recall it from earlier, really.

Tsuchiura was already striding in that direction, halting to the side of her and peering at the mountain of books over her shoulder. "Wagner, huh?" he said, tone not exactly derisive, but not exactly polite, either. "Never liked him, myself. His music sounds like three pianists, one playing "In the Hall of the Mountain King", one playing "Moonlight Sonata" movement 3, one playing "Rustles of Spring", all at the same time with all six feet on the sustain pedal."

She snorted as she tossed her head and looked up at him. "It's really none of your business, you know. Besides, I've never researched him yet. I thought it would be interesting. Go away, you're disturbing me."

Not to be uncharitable, but she didn't have the nicest voice; it was somewhat loud and bossy. Her nose wasn't on the small side, and her face was practically round. Her only beauty seemed to be her enormous dark eyes, which reflected passion and drive, but a little insecurity, as well. 

Tsuchiura leaned over even more and gave her a withering look that I'd seen him give Tsukimori-kun more than once. "I'm pretty sure I saw you at the piano auditions, yet you aren't a piano major, are you?"

"What business is it of yours? Fine, I'm a comp major. What of it?"

"I thought your piano auditions were above anyone else's, if a little sloppy. Why composition?"

Her face got red and she stood up, shoving the chair away and crossing her arms. "It. Is. None. Of. Your. Business!"

"Shh!" immediately elicited from the entire library. An annoyed looking librarian waltzed over and put a hand on the girl's shoulder, which she shrugged away as if allergic to physical contact. "I'm sorry, but if you can't be quiet, I'll have to ask you to leave the library."

The girl shot Tsuchiura-kun a hell-melting glare before sitting down and giving him her back purposefully. Tsuchiura-kun sighed. "Geez, I was just curious. What's up yours, anyway?" He turned and put a hand on my elbow, his expression telling me that he hadn't been ignoring or forgetting me the entire time. "Come on, Hino-san. I don't think I could study here right now, anyway."

.

Evening arrived, and, after having dinner with Tsuchiura-kun, I said goodnight to him and walked to the dormitory I was staying at. He was staying with his sister, who had graduated from this school and had an apartment in the area. I needed to unwind and unpack a bit, and a little silence wouldn't be terrible.

In the movies, dorm rooms are big and cozy, with enough room for a Hispanic family, abuela included, to fit into. Not so in real life, at least, not on this campus. Nope, here the rooms were all of five meters by three, with two beds on either side of the room, bookshelves up ahead, and desks at the head of the beds.

At least they were on campus. It would suck to have to travel half an hour a day just to get to class. Especially if you forgot books or something.

I took out my keys at the door to my room, but trying the handle, I found it already unlocked. "Ah, my roommate must already be here." I put on a smile. Always best to start on good terms with the person you're going to be living in the same tiny area with for the next semester. I opened the door and gazed around expectantly.

Oh. Crud.

Excuse the English, but I'm sure I have as much need to use it as anyone, particularly right now. 

You see, amid piles of books and scattered manuscript, Miss Talkative was scribbling away furiously on some sheet music. She looked up when I entered and raised an eyebrow.

"It's you from earlier."

"Um, yeah. Sorry, we haven't exactly met. I'm Hino Kahoko, and you are...?"

She snorted. Not exactly the personable type. Boy, was this going to be a long semester. "If you'd been listening at the orientation, you would already know."**  
****  
**"Um...sorry?"

She sighed exasperatedly and tossed down her pencil, sitting up from where she'd been reclining on her bed. "I'm Usa."

"Usa?"

"That's what everyone calls me. Dumb nicknames stick the fastest. If you call me by my real name I won't answer, so just call me Usa and it'll all be good." She gave me a rakish smile. "Yoroshiku, Kaho." Then she went back to scribbling.

I have to admit she had a cute smile, for all her arrogance. 

"Ah, what time are you getting to sleep? And I really can't work in a messy environment, so try to keep your side of the room clean, okay?" Like she was one to talk. "And that guy you were hanging out with the library, who's he?"**  
****  
**"Tsuchiura Ryoutaro...why?"

"If you want to invite him up, don't do it while I'm here. He's the worst kind—the kind that knows it all and has to be first in everything. I can't stand that type."

Once again, like she was one to talk.

"And just to warn you, if I like you I like you, if I don't I don't, and there's not much to do about it. For your sake I hope I like you."

! Who did she think she was? 

She tossed me a sympathetic look. "Because I can be nice if I want to be, you know." She sighed a little. "I'm not exactly what you'd call easy to get along with; basically I have no social skills, and I know it, but I've been trying for ages and can't seem to change. Heh, sorry, that seems a little personal. Anyway, I hope you're an early riser." I wasn't. "Theory class starts at 8:00 in the morning."

******  
**"WHAT?"

"Every day."

"You're kidding me, right? 8 ams every day of the week? That's just..."

"Part of being a music student. Deal with it. I already found out we're in the same class, so if you like, we can study together. Just don't try to drag me down, okay?"

"Gah..." I collapsed on my bed, not caring that my ear landed on my cellphone. I felt it vibrate, twice, and, with sudden apprehension, picked it up.

1 New Text Message.

I opened the message, breathless with anticipation.

From Tsukimori Len.

Hope orientation is going well. Try not to get on the bad side of your private lesson teachers; they'll make it hell on you if they don't like you. Study hard, or you'll get behind, and don't forget to practice. Just give me a call if you need help on technique, but don't call from 9:00 am to 4:00 pm, since I have rehearsal, and try not to call after 7:00 pm, either. Don't forget about the time difference.

I hope you'll have improved by the time I see you next. Ganbatte.

-L

I smiled a little, even at the curtness in his message, and rolled onto my back, rereading the message. Usa looked over with interest.

"That guy from earlier?"

"Mm hm. Wait, no, sorry, different guy."

******  
**"So Tsuchiura isn't your boyfriend?"

"Huh? No way!" Not that I wouldn't mind him paying me a little more attention, in an alternate universe, perhaps. 

She gave a little secret smile. "So the guy on the phone is your 'one true love', huh?"

I felt my face grow warm. "Well...not really..."

"Yeah, right. You're totally glowing right now. It's cute. Maybe I can grow to like you afterall." Then she did a double take and shook her head. "Sorry. That sounded rude."

You sound rude most of the time. **  
**

****"So who is this Mr. 'makes my cheeks grow divinest rosy'?"

"A guy I used to know from high school."

"We all have one."

"He's a musician. A really good one."

"We all think that about the ones we like, sweetie."

I shot a pair of daggers from my eyes at her. "No, really. He's like, super famous over in Europe."

"Does he like you back?"

I blinked twice. "That...I don't really know..." True, he'd done confusing things, like grab my hand, and hold me from behind and...but...really, did he? 

She shrugged. "Well, not to sound discouraging or anything, but if he's really that amazing, chances are he probably won't go for someone like you."

Ow! 

She thought about it for a minute, and then said. "Sorry again. I mean what I say, but it's not always the best thing to say." She reached above her head at the desk and tossed a candy bar at me. "Truce?"

I let the bar hit my arm and then picked it up and started unwrapping it. Oh, my stomach will be the death of me yet. "Truce."

**Author's Notes: **Konnichiwa, minna-san! Hajimemashite! Ongaku no Usagi here. This is my first La Corda D'oro story, so I'm looking forward to hearing from everybody (hint: REVIEW REVIEW). 

A couple of notes: The chapter titles are named after various keys. I think all keys have an individual personality, so I've named the various timbres of the chapters after the keys that seem to fit the right mood. "Dur" means major, and "Mol" means minor. This fic will be pretty heavy on music terminology, so if you have any questions, please ask (hint: REVIEW REVIEW).

Okay, enough of that shameless plug. Hehe.

I've been called up on the carpet before for not adding in translations, so here's what I used this time:

Ganbarimashou: Let's do our best together**  
**Ganbatte: Do your best**  
**Yoroshiku: Nice to meet you

**Edit:** I am officially rewriting this fic! No big changes; just correcting a few continuity errors, a little less Japanese, that sort of thing. Thank you all for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Movement 2: A flat dur

I have thought it over, dear Reader, and I have come to this conclusion:

A musician did not come up with theory class. Never never never. No musician in his right mind would invent such a class of horrors. Major interval, minor interval, but never with 5ths and 4ths, because those are perfect intervals; what note would you write given the following four voice counterpoint? Is this a relative minor passage, or a parallel minor passage? What key does the second statement of the subject modulate to? Gag me with a wooden spoon! Who needs this stuff?

Usa disagreed heartily.

"It's because you don't get it," she said encouragingly, as we started to dress in our room before the ungodly hour of 8 o'clock that the sadists who called themselves our teachers assigned to this freakish class. "Theory is really fun. It shows you how to play music more beautifully, because then you _understand _it."

I was seriously tired of Usa's patronizing italics. I'd already been introduced to a barrage of them during the first week of classes. "You must practice _diligently_, Kaho. If you don't, you'll get behind." "Why don't you try to be to class _on time _for once? The teachers don't like it when you're late, you know." 

"I don't need to _understand _it," I snapped back, pulling a sweatshirt over my head so I could avoid her amused gaze. "I just need to play it, that's all. Seriously, who cares if D to C double sharp is an augmented 7th? It sounds like an octave to me."

She laughed a little, deprecatingly. "You're just mad because that pop quiz had a ton of those, and you got them all wrong."

I scowled at my socks. "Sure, it's easy for you, Miss I'm-A-Composition-Major-So-I-Already-Know-All-This-Stuff. Why didn't you just test out of the class if you already knew all the material, huh?"

She looked away darkly. "I didn't think I'd be able to," she said, "so I didn't try."

"You know what your problem is? You've got no confidence. Zero. Just go out on a limb for once and try to do something that you might possibly fail at."

She tossed her head, sending her fine brown hair flying back before capturing it with a hair tye. "I don't need that from you, you know." She got up huffily and gathered her books. "See you in class," she said, heading for the door.

"What? Class doesn't start for half-an-hour yet."

"I'm going to go review the material in the classroom, for optimum memorization purposes."

"You're ridiculous."

"Whatever."

As she closed the door none-to-gently behind her, I blew out my breath and pounded my bed with my fist. "Kuso, she's so annoying! *sigh* This is going to be a long semester."

When I finally got to class, I purposely chose a seat farther to the back, since I knew Usa liked front, center, and noted that the above-mentioned had already managed to get into a heated debate with Tsuchiura-kun, the seat behind her.

"Oh, come on, everyone within spitting distance knows that this phrase carries over into bar 17 and continues. It's called a sentence, nimrod. Theme, theme extended, theme and trail off. You'd have to be dumb not to." Yup, annoying as ever.

"I'm just saying I'm not sure it's a sentence, that's all," Tsuchiura-kun said, pointing with his finger at the music. "Besides, in Schubert's time they weren't using sentences. That didn't come about until a hundred years later."

"Just because it's not called a sentence doesn't mean it isn't one. Music doesn't wait for the culmination that was Belioz, you know."

"You can just go suck a reed."

"You can go suck a double reed."

"Minor second," they both intoned at the same time, allowing a single sympathetic giggle at the joke, which I did not get until much, much later. After that small allowance, they went back to mad at each other. I was just glad that Tsuchiura was on my side.

"It's too early in the morning to argue," I groaned, collapsing onto my desk. The boy next to me, half-heartedly flipping through the pages of his theory book, flumped down on his in agreement.

At that, Hanada-sensei whirled into the room, and the room hushed into silence. Hanada-sensei, as should be obvious, is the theory professor, and so that you may have a better image of "whirled", let me paint you her portrait very quickly.

Hanada-sensei is a fifty-something, still very energetic and passionate and somewhat crazy, lady, who regularly dons florid skirts and begins every lecture with the latest news on her favorite baseball team. Were it not for her extraordinarily engaging method of teaching, I'm sure the board would have had something to say about her years ago; however, once she starts teaching theory, Hanada-sensei has the most incredible passion for the subject of anyone I could ever meet.

"Okay, okay," she began, setting her large pile of books on the desk with a decisive flump and steering her poppy-patterned self right next to the front, center desk. She grinned widely and leaned against said desk. "Now, as I'm sure you are all aware, Japan is doing marvellously in the World Series preliminaries. You should have seen Matsumoto last night! He stole 2ndbase directly from under the nose of the Brazil baseman! Hahaha! It was so great, next week I should have you all over to my house to watch it together...Aaaaaand...Who can tell me what the function of the subdominant chord is at the end of a movement, typical of 18thand 19thcentury harmony? Yes! Usa-chan!"

I felt vaguely annoyed that they were already on such good terms that she was calling her "Usa-chan".

"To relieve tension before the introduction of the coda," she answered primly.

"Because tonic is the dominant of the subdominant, counterbalancing the harmony," Tsuchiura, leaning back nonchallantly so that the heels of his shoes rested against the legs of her chair in front of him, continued. Usa sent a glare in his direction.

"Correct! Excellent observation, Tsuchiura! Now, everyone! Watch how Mozart sets up this series of predominant chords to build tension before the dominant chord!"

As she pounded away at the piano, screaming, "Predominant! Predominant! Predominant! ...Aaaaand, dominant! Tonic!", to our eternal and inexhaustible amusement, the back door opened and the boy who had laughed during the director's speech on the first day, sauntered in, still wearing huge headphones over his ears, and settled into the back. Hanada-sensei sighed, but didn't say anything.

Getting to know a new class with new people is like starting a new book after you've just finished an old one. You have to get used to new personalities, even if you weren't ready move on from the last characters. You start to look back nostalgically on people from before, and to resent the "newcomers". But after awhile you forget about it and pretty soon, the newcomers are like your best friends. Isn't it true?

It'll still be awhile before that's true for me, though. I really miss the guys from high school; it's great having Tsuchiura around, but I miss Keiichi-kun, Hihara-sempai, Yunoki-sempai, Aoi-kun and especially Tsukimori-kun...

.

The one thing that got me excited about that day was that I'd be meeting my private lessons teacher that afternoon. Excited and nervous, really. What Tsukimori had told me was still ringing in my digital memory. Try to get along with the teacher...how?

I attempted to peak in through the blinds at the window when I arrived at his office/lesson room, but to no avail. Putting my chin up, I determinedly knocked on the door, and turned the handle to his "Come in".

I closed the door behind me and stood with my violin case gripped in both hands in front of me, like a shield.

"Um...I'm Hino Kahoko, Kumoyama-sensei. Yoroshiku..."

"Is your instrument tuned already?"

"N...not yet..."

"Tune it quickly, please. Always come with it tuned hereafter. Where's your accompanist?"

"I haven't found one yet. I've been too busy..."

"We can't have a lesson properly without one. Find one by the next lesson, or don't bother to come at all." He sat back with his legs crossed in his chair and a bored expression on his face. "Play for me the piece that you're currently working on."

"Yes, sir." I pulled my violin out of my case and quickly tuned it, not taking extraordinarily amount of care to make sure that the 5ths were perfect in my haste to comply with his rapid-fire demands.

"Retune it."

"Y...yes, sir." I retuned again, making absolute sure that they were perfect. Finally, I raised the violin.

"Correct your posture. You can't possibly play well with your chest caved inwardly like that."

"Yes, sir." I finally started to play.

"Paganini's 9th caprice? It's too difficult for you. You should start with something simpler. Here," he pulled out a piece of music from his messy shelves, knowing where it was as if by magic, and tossed it on the piano bench in front of me. "Learn the first three pages by next lesson. Now let's work on your bowing."

It was pretty late that night when I dragged my poor, school-abused body up to my room and allowed myself to sink into the pillows my parents had sent from home. They covered my entire bed with pink, soft fuzzy feathers, and made me feel like a princess. Usa had not been so enthusiastic about the latest addition to my room, and had pointed out that if the feathers got over onto her side of the room, she would mercilessly vaccuum the entire room until there were no feathers on the floor or on the pillows, either.

Usa was, for all she refused to wear skirts or hang out with the other girls of the class, surprisingly moody. One day last week she'd come back from the practice room, thrown herself on the floor and just cried and rumpled up an entire score of a Grieg piano concerto. When I'd tried to comfort her, she'd snarled at me to leave her alone for an hour or two and she'd be human again; the next time I came in, she was curled up at the desk with a mug of hot cocoa happily smoothing out said innocently offended score and humming the chord progressions.

Today, she looked over sympathetically and asked, "Hey, are you okay?" very softly.

I muffled a little moan in my pink pillow and tried not to inhale fluffy feathers.

"Practice not so good?"

Negative grunt.

"Boy troubles?"

Another negative grunt, although I wasn't sure if it was true or not. I was still waiting back for Tsukimori-kun's reply from my frustrated text about the lesson.

"Ah, I get it now. Your violin lesson went that well, huh? Boy, I envy you. Kumoyama-sensei's really great at hiding his frustration with students, especially when they show up without accompanists."

Usa was an expert with sarcasm, albeit not with other tones of voice, like "sweetness", "gentleness", "consideration".

I awarded her with an affirmative grunt, sensing that the sarcasm was in my favor today.

She sighed and hopped up from her bed, coming over to my side for the first time that week, and, gingerly, put a hand on my shoulder, light as a feather, as if afraid that the heaviness of her hand would scare me off.

"Need an accompanist?"

I looked up at her with big puppy eyes. "Please please please? Onegaishimasu, with sakura on top?"

"Huh? It's supposed to be a cherry on top, not cherry blossoms. Exactly how much time have you spent studying your English idioms, anyway?"

"Please, Usa-chan?" I asked, sitting up and clasping my hands together. She withdrew the generously extended hand in disgust. "Don't do that."

"What?"

"Call me Usa-chan. It's so girly. Only Hanada-san can get away with it, because she lets me play her French harpsichord. But I like sakura blossoms. I'll accompany you." She smiled and stretched her arms over her head, cracking her knuckles. "But I won't go easy on you. Be prepared."

I gave her a smile back along with a big hug, which she accepted as though I were a python. What is it with this girl and her enormous space bubble? "That's exactly what I wanted to hear! Thanks, Usa!"

Four days later, I was becoming acquainted with Usa's definition of "won't go easy on you".

"Keep up the tempo! You can use rubato all you like with Brahms or Debussy, but don't let me catch you using it with Bach! That note should be _accented_, can't you read music? Geez..."

She paused for a minute and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, casting a look around at the perforated walls of the claustriphobically tiny practice room and the tiny baby grand piano, blowing out her breath. "This is going to take a lot of work."

"Who do you think you are to talk? What's up with coming in a fraction of a second after I do? Are you waiting for an invitation to play?"

"I'm trying to read you, you little tadpole. You're so bloody hard to read. I can't tell when you mean to come in and when you're just thinking about it."

"Well, maybe you should get better at reading people."

"Well, maybe you should get better at playing the violin."

"Shut up for two seconds, and let's run this passage over from the top." I took a deep breath, raised my eyebrows in exaggerated warning "I am about to play" and we started to play.

Something about Usa made me a lot meaner. I've heard that we start to imitate the people we are around, but I was not terribly happy at the current arrangment.

But the music we made together, for all our complaining and bitching at each other...ah, that was magic that the violin didn't contribute to. True, she had the tendency to come in late, but I will admit that my tentativeness didn't help. But our melodies twisted and entwined together; the parallel 3rds and 6ths climbed like morning glories around a trellis; we held our codas with the same baited breath, and cadenced together beautifully.

We exited the practice rooms scowling at each other. If we'd been cats, I'm pretty sure that there would be scratches all over the both of us.

Out in the hall, oh conglomeration of all the hellish sounds that were coming from the practice rooms, all together, there was a group of guys with various instruments, chatting and laughing casually. I put on a smile.

"Good afternoon, sempai. Would you mind letting us pass?" I asked politely.

They paused in their conversation, with amused looks on their faces. "Hey, you're the violinist who was in the far room, right?" one of them, who was leaning on a cello case, said. I nodded, and he turned to the others and grinned.

"This is the new crop that's coming in this year. Yay for us. The practice rooms are going to sound _great_."

I felt my face go red and I backed off in humiliation. "I'm...just a beginner, but..." I mumbled.

I felt a shove from behind, and Usa pushed by my shoulder and stormed toward the group of them with "tornado warning" written on her round face.

"Who the hell do you guys think you are, anyway?" she said quietly, but angrily at them. If there'd been a storm shelter available, I would have run to hide in it immediately.

She pointed a finger, not a nice one, dramatically at the cellist. "You. I heard you in here last night. What, you think your sloppy 3rdposition is any better than hers, huh? And you," turning that finger to one who was carrying a wind instrument case of some kind, "you're exactly why the entire orchestra makes fun of oboes! It sounds like you're blowing into a weasel, and not a well tuned weasel, either! And you," to the last one, with no instrument case to incriminate him, "you call yourself a pianist? I've heard 3rdgraders who play better than you! If you can't learn to play with that heavy thumb of yours, chop it off and feed it to the sharks, for all it's worth! I can't believe you're giving a junior recital next month. I'll go and occupy the front seat with my dear friends, Squishy Banana and Rotten Tomato!"

I heard a chuckle from behind and turned around to see Tsuchiura-kun emerging from a practice room.

"Oi, Front, Center," he said to Usa, "your voice is so loud that I could hear it clear through the double glass. Is there a volume control on this thing?" he asked me. I shook my head glumly.

"The best thing I've found so far is Nutella," I said. "Sticky and addicting. Give her a spoonful and she's gone."

Usa turned to me with a disgusted look on her face. "Here I thought you were being nice," she growled.

"But she's right, for all she's right at 150 decibles," Tsuchiura continued, aiming at the three by-now-cowering sempai. "I can't believe how many second rate musicians there are at this college. Do they just let in anyone who can play 'Twinkle Twinkle'? Correct your own stuff before you start swinging at her from now on, got it?"

He stepped in front of me protectively and arranged his shoulders in such a way that they could see that he was, in fact, much more muscular than they were. "Next time I'll do the defending, Front, Center. Come on, Hino."

I followed him, stunned, aware that Usa was following me and throwing a last few raspberries at the sempai.

"Thanks, both of you," I said, once we were walking down the path outside. "I really appreciate it."

The two of them, who had by now managed to get shoulder to shoulder and were bickering over the significance of Bach's Prelude and Fugue in F minor, WTC 1, turned back with shocked looks on their faces.

"Well, of course, Hino," said Tsuchiura-kun, a little embarassedly. "What else would I do?"

"Yeah, it's not like you'll ever stick up for yourself," Usa said. "You're too sickly sweet. If I ate you I'd get an instant toothache."

"Why the heck would you ever eat me, anyway?" I shot back. "You're disgusting, you know that? Disgusting and rude and low self-esteem and..."

"Hm, I think she's actually a good influence on you, Hino," Tsuchiura-kun said with a little smile. "I've got soccer practice soon, but meet me in the practice rooms here at 8:00, okay? I'll be waiting for you."

I blushed as I watched him stride away. Usa raised an eyebrow. "I thought you didn't like him."

"I don't, not like that."

"Methinks your face doth betray your heart."

"Shut up. Besides the only one who..." I suddenly groaned. "Crap. I forgot. I was going to call Tsukimori-kun tonight at 8:00. His schedule is so tight that the only time I can call him is 7:00 am his time. But Tsuchiura wouldn't ask me to meet him if it wasn't important...Dou suru?"

"Your problem."

"You're mean. But thanks, Usa." I gave her a grin. "I think I won't entirely dread waking up in the same room as you for the entire semester."

"You know, I think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"Sucks to be you."

"Yup, it sure does," she sighed, and looked stubbornly at the horizon line. I wondered if I'd accidently hit the nail on the head again.

"Ne, Kahoko," she said, quieter.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you see Tsuchiura," she paused, and then continued, begrudgingly, "tell him he's right about Wagner."**  
**

**Author's Notes:**

A little music-terminology heavy...sorry about that.

Translations:

Kuso: Crap

Sempai: Upper classmen (used as an address)**  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Movement 3: E flat mol

"Hey, Tsuchiura-kun."

"Hey. You came."

"Well, yeah. What's up."

"You interested in doing a violin sonata with me?"

"Wai...what?"

"I've been invited to participate in Yunoki-sempai's recital at Seisou college, and he particularly suggested doing a piece with violin. I wonder why?"

"Ah, heheh."

He cast me a glance from where he was sitting at the piano, flicking off miniscule pieces of dust on the keys. I squirmed in my chair next to him and pretended to be interested in the brass tuning-pins inside the piano.

"When's the recital?"

"Two months from now."

"Two months from...Wah! There's no way I can learn a sonata that fast! I have the piece that Kumoyama-sensei gave me, and the piece for piano proficiency..."

"How's that going, by the way?"

"I'm having a heck of a time with piano. I suck at it."

"Yup."

"I need help."

"Yup."

"You're meaner than Tsukimori-kun."

He laughed a little. "I'm joking. I'll help you out. In the meantime," he reached into his backpack and pulled out a thick score of sheet music, "here's the piece I want to do. Take a look and tell me what you think."

I picked up the score and instantly felt ameliorated. "Fantastic! This is exactly the piece I'm learning for Kumoyama-sensei!"

Tsuchiura-kun smiled at my excitement and watched me as I flipped through the score. I'd already practiced the first three pages thoroughly, anxious to be ahead for my next lesson, and Usa had helped me with the analyzation, so I'd even gotten a couple more pages done. "Well, you think we can do it?"

"I'm sure you are capable of learning this. And me, well, I'll do my best."

He reached over and ruffled the top of my hair. "Good girl. Let's get started now."

"Okay." I pulled out my violin.

"Piano first."

Groan. "Why?"

"There's a Western saying that goes, 'If the worst thing you had to do all day long was eat a big fat toad, you'd want to do it first thing in the morning to get it out of the way'. Chomp chomp, Hino."

Yuck. What a horrible analogy.

"I think I'd prefer the toad right now," I moaned as I sat down half-heartedly on the side of the bench that Tsuchiura-kun offered me and poked at the keys.

"Music."

"Hai, hai." I pulled out the music that I had for my lesson and set it up on the piano.

Tsuchiura-kun chuckled. "Oi, don't laugh," I scowled. "I have to start somewhere."

"Well, yeah, but 'Snug as a Bug in a Rug'? Isn't there a more dignified piece they could give you?"

I sighed and put my hands up on the piano and started to play, slowly and clumbsily. Tsuchiura wordlessly picked up my left hand and stuck it down in my lap. "What?"

"Try it just one hand at a time. If you try to do the entire thing at once, you'll fail, guarenteed. Just do the right hand more now."

I did, and easily conquered the piece.

"Now the left."

I started to play with my left. "Oops. That was supposed to be an E, wasn't it?"

"You're horrible with bass clef. Almost as bad as a vocal major, and that's saying something."

"Well, I've never had to deal with it before."

He thought for a minute, and then put his hand an octave lower. "Okay, play with me, ready? One, two, three."

It worked. I tried to look at the music and pay attention to what his hand was doing, and all the while my ears gave me a clue as to what was coming next. When we'd finished, I smiled at him.

"Like magic."

"Yeah." He stared at me for a minute, and I could've sworn he'd caught his breath.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, sorry." He looked away, and I blinked in confusion.

"Anyway, violin sonata now? Please?"

He grunted and scooted me off the bench physically. "Okay, let's go."

.

"Oi, you. Up."

I groaned, rolling over in the iron maiden torture implement they have the audacity to call a dorm "bed", and blinked confusedly at my hellion/angel of a roommate. For a moment I had the "OMG it's 5 minutes before class!" rush of adrenhaline, and then I remembered what day it was.

"Saturday. No school. Sleep in." I rolled over and smiled on the drifting fog back to sleep.

She took two steps forward and poked me in the back.

"Ow."

"Up."

"What the heck?"

"I told you, we're going to a matinee today, because it's cheaper."

I groaned, remembering. One of the sly additions to the syllabus that you never get course credits for is "concert attendance", which basically means that you have to attend a certain number of concerts on and off campus during a semester.

"The matinee doesn't start until one o'clock, and it's only ten right now."

"Well, first we need to research the concerto we're going to watch, so that we'll be better _informed _as to how to listen to it."

Part of Usa's philosophy is that music cannot be enjoyed until it has been analyzed thoroughly. I think she's nuts.

"You research it and fill me in later."

She sighed exasperatedly. "How are you ever going to become a musician like _that_?"

I rolled out and up and rubbed my eyes against the late morning sun. "Hey, Usa."

"Yeah?"

"How did you pass piano proficiency?"

"Easy. I sat down, played a couple of pieces, sightread a sinchy easy piece, and improvised harmony to a given melody."

"So in other words there's no way I'll pass it."

"You will if you work hard."

I sighed. "Tsuchiura-kun promised to help, but he doesn't have very much time," I pouted. She rolled her eyes. "Relax. I'll help you. Just like everything else. Can't you do _anything _yourself?"

"Sure. For one, I can manage not to get everyone around me on edge just by walking into a room."

She punched me in the arm, none too lightly. "Up. My niceness meter just tanked. Get dressed, and we'll head out to the concert."

.

Two hours later, we were standing at the platform, waiting for the train to come in, and I was sending glances over my shoulder at the third party in baggy pants and brightly colored parka.

"Usa," I whispered, although said third party couldn't hear through the headphones he was wearing, "Why in the world did you invite him along?"

"I mentioned that we were going, and he asked if he could come. I couldn't think of a tactful way to say no."

"You never say anything tactfully, anyway. It's not like he'd notice. Hold up a sec. I'm going to go buy some coffee."

As I happily deposited my coins into the platform vending machine, I heard the guy ask, "So what concert are we going to again?" and Usa replying in her normal screechy-bossy-impatient voice, "Chopin's 2ndpiano concerto and Ravel's Bolero! I've already told you twice, haven't I?"

I turned around and attempted to intervene but was saved by the train pulling in. It was fortunate that it wasn't very crowded; the three of us managed to sit down, me sandwiched in between the two of them.

I kicked my heels against the heater under the seat as I sipped my can of coffee, and unbuttoned the front of my grey jacket. Train heaters either don't heat the compartment enough, or they blast you with hot air, and this was of the latter variety. Looking over at Usa, she had already managed to pull out yet another book. Feeling awkward, I turned to the guy and asked politely, "So, I'm Hino Kahoko, but I don't know your name yet."

He nodded and said, "I'm Shinichi, but just call me _Ichi_." He grinned and pushed one of his headphones to the side. "You're a violinist, right?"

"Yes."

"Cool. Me too. Wanna hear what I'm listening to?"

"Sure..." He slipped the headphones off and casually put them on my head for me. Shocked into inaction by his familiar ways, I concentrated on the music. "Sorry...could you turn it down a little?"

"Sure thing." As the music dimmed down into something recognizeable, I could hear a cheerful, repetitive, plain but dancing tune, on a violin. It was completely unaccompanied, but didn't seem to need anything else. The notes sang, not always perfectly on pitch, scooping and playing coyly with the rhythm. Although it repeated the melody constantly, it never played exactly the same thing twice.

"This is amazing. What is this?"

"Irish fiddling."

"Wow. I've never heard anything like it."

He grinned and folded his arms proudly. "The goal of my life is to bring fiddling to Japanese music. Classical musicians get so caught up into thinking that all there is to music is Bach and Brahms or whatever, and they forget that the world was already full of music before them. Listen to this."

He changed the track and a completely different sound came on; a full orchestra, but playing harmonies like I'd never heard before.

"What's this?''  
**  
**"Bartok."

"Who's that?"

"Bela Bartok, the father of classical folk music, late 19thto early 20thcentury, visited remote villages in Eastern Europe, writer of 'Microkosmos'," intoned Usa from behind Fux's "Gradus ad Parnasum". She closed the book and wrenched the headphones off my head and onto hers, pulling Ichi practically into my lap from the cord attached at his belt. She wrinkled her nose and handed the headphones back to him. "Folk music is for commoners. Like pop music. It's just the same notes, the same chords, over and over, without regard to counterpoint of complex harmony. No creativity whatsoever."

My protestations overlapped Ichi's.

"But isn't music supposed to be fun?"

"Why do you have to be so stuck up about it? Music is meant to be enjoyed, not analysed."

"Usa, take it easy for once. Don't you ever listen to music just to listen to it?"

"Folk music has been around for centuries longer than 'classical music'. The reason why it hasn't changed in that time is because it was already good to begin with."

"Music is more fun when it is analysed," Usa replied firmly. "You understand how _complex _it is and why it sounds the way it does. I don't even have to listen to a piece of popular music all the way through to already know exactly what it is. Tonic, dominant, submediant, subdominant, dominant, tonic. Over and over and over. Sometimes, if they think they're smart, they'll add in a mediant chord. Ooh. So impressive."

Ichi and I both sighed and shook our heads. "Don't even try," I whispered to him. "Trust me, when she gets like this, you can't get anywhere with her."

"Who's trying?" he muttered. Then he winked at me, conspiratorially. "Hey, you wanna trick her into going to a Gogol Bordello concert sometime and tell her it's Beethoven's 5th?"

"I heard that," Usa replied, but she was already immersed back into the Fux.

Ichi wasn't so bad, I decided.

.

We took our seats, nosebleed that they were, and peered down upon the tuning orchestra. The concert hall wasn't large, although even I could tell that the acoustical engineering was amazing, just from looking at the sound panels of solid oak that were arranged like a folding fan on either side of the stage and on the ceiling.

And then the conductor and the young man who was going to play the concerto came out, bowed, and arranged themselves in their respective positions. The audience's anticipation hummed inaudibly on the air.

The strings started out, softly, wistfully, and built up to a crescendo of agitated movement; then the brass came in triumphantly, and the winds delicately, before, a little later, the pianist came in. The melody was so melancholy, so gentle and whimsical and smooth.

The music washed over me, the long trills that trailed off and blossomed into consonance; the swells of the orchestra and blending with the piano. The notes were so fast, so even, that they hardly seemed to be just fingers on keys. I looked over at Usa, who sat there, entranced, her eyes following the pianist's every move, and I knew she was comparing her technique to his. At last, she sat back into her seat with a frown and looked down, cheeks flaming. What had her so upset?

The movement ended, with the fanfare and all, and I sprung to my feet, clapping until my fingers stung. I was so overcome with how beautiful it had been, the pain didn't matter to me.

It took about three seconds to realize that I was the only one doing so, and that all eyes in the concert hall had turned upon me. I felt Usa's hand jerk at my elbow so that I collapsed ungracefully back down into the seat, which hurt because it was the kind that folded up as soon as you got up, before she slunk down as far as possible and pretended not to know who I was.

There was stunned silence, and then a few chuckles, particularly from Ichi, who just looked amused, and everyone turned back around in their seats and gave their attention back to the pissed-off looking conductor. From the seat in front, I heard one middle-aged woman mutter to another beside her, "There's one in every audience."

If it was light enough in the concert hall, I'm sure that my cheeks would have been the color of my hair.

"Oi!" hissed Usa, inching back up and peeping over the seat in front of her to make sure it was safe to come out. "You _never _applaud until the end of the work! Didn't anybody ever teach you that in high school?"

"Ah...hahaha..." I chuckled nervously, and watched the rest of the work in silence, not beginning to clap even at the end until I was positive that everyone else was.

"That was pretty awesome," said Ichi as we left the concert hall, packed into the milling crowd as it tried to fit itself through the double doors all at once.

Usa tossed her head and said nothing.

"It was really beautiful," I agreed, smiling at him. "I've never heard Chopin played with an orchestra before. It felt like all the other instruments were just part of the piano."

"Yeah, I love classical music, too," Ichi said, grinning. "I don't think you should enjoy either popular music or classical more. If you love them both, I think something beautiful can come from it."

"I agree," I said, happy that someone else had the same opinion that I did. "But theory class sure is aggravating," I said, sadly. "My scores are rotten. I think there's only one person who's doing worse than me right now."

He laughed. "Yup, that would be me." He shrugged unconcernedly. "I try to understand what I can, because I think it's important, but I just don't kill myself over it, you know? Don't worry about it too much. Unlike some people," he winked in Usa's direction, "I don't have to be head of class to be happy."

"Urusai," she muttered, and her face flamed red. I observed her interestedly.

"Usa, don't tell me that Tsuchiura is ahead of you in theory?"

"No, but he's not behind me, either. Damn him, I study and study and he's in soccer and all and still manages to tie my score. What the hell?" She subsided into sulky silence and refused to talk for the rest of the train ride back.

Upon arriving back at our room, she unlocked the door stormily and slammed it behind her before I was even able to get in. I opened the door timidly and peeked in.

"Usa?"

"Mrmm."

"Usa, what the hell is wrong?"

She had thrown herself onto the bed immediately upon arrival from the concert, and was grawing at the hand-made quilt on top.

"Usa, that can't be nutricious, cut it out. What's up?"

She sat up, still chewing at the quilt in a corner of her mouth, like a cat, and curled up into the fetal position. I could see that a storm of tears had already started, and she was gulping like a goldfish.

"That...technique...the runs were so smooth...so quick! I...why didn't I ever figure out how to do that? I'm so stupid! I should have figured it out years ago!" She let go of the blanket and began shredding the already rumpled Grieg concerto.

"Oi, how are you going to practice that later if it's all torn up?"

"I already have these pages memorized," she said darkly. "Not like it matters. I'll never get to play it with an orchestra, anyway."

"See, this is what I'm saying. No self-confidence."

"I don't need self-confidence. What I need," she suddenly brightened and sat up, "is more practice. Yeah. That's what's wrong. Why didn't I see that before? If the notes aren't fast enough now, I'll just make my fingers go faster." She bounded up and began flipping through the dozens of scores in the bookshelf above her bed like mad.

"There! Hanon and Czerny! God bless ye maties, how I've neglected you. Neglect no more! Practice rooms here I come!"

"Oi, Usa, hold up...Aaaaand she's already gone. At least she's got enthusiasm." I looked around the room, suddenly becoming aware of the silence. From the next room over, I could hear a clarinet attempting a passage the player wasn't skilled enough for yet, squeaks included.

Let's see...I could do homework. I could practice. I could write a letter home. Oooor, I could just put all that off and call a friend. I pulled out my cell and scrolled through the numbers. Hihara-sempai? Hmm...probably not right now. Mio or Nao? Wasn't feeling like it. Of course, I was really just making excuses, because the truth was that I actually wanted to call any of them, anyone back home, really, but there was just one person I wanted to hear from right now.

Speed dial: Len Tsukimori.

I held the phone to my ear and listened with my heart pounding. I hadn't heard his voice in almost two months, and the anticipation was killing me.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

And then, the most gorgeous sound in the world.  
**  
***click* "What the hell, Hino. Do you have any idea what time it is right now?"

Oops. I'd forgotten about the time difference.

"Sorry. Tsukimori-kun, don't hang up. Please."

I heard the sound of sheets and blankets rumpling, and a very disgruntled and unawake Tsukimori-kun rubbing his face and hair. "What's wrong? I already responded about your violin teacher."

"I know. It's going better, I think. I have a lesson with him tomorrow, and I'm all prepared."

"Then why in the world are you calling me at _this _time of the morning?"

"Eh? What time is it?"

"Currently 2:45 am."

"And you're not practicing? Oh ho, even Tsukimori-kun takes a break from time to time?"

"Get to the point."

"I miss you. Like heck. I wanted to hear your voice more than anything else in the world."

Silence**.**

"You there?"

"Yeah. Kahoko, I...Kuso, I can't wait to see you."

"You just called me Kahoko."

"Yeah. Get used to it. Kahoko, Kahoko, Kahoko...tired of it yet?"

I smiled. "Never."

"Kay, let me get to sleep already. I have a lesson with my master tomorrow."

"Shishou?"

He gave the smallest of chuckles. "Good word for it. If only the Viennese spoke Japanese."

"Tsukimori-kun?"

"Yes?"

"I..." I like you so much that my heart hurts. I want to see you more than anything. I just want you back with me, and I want your arms around me like that time when you told me you couldn't come to my recital, and..."Good night, Tsukimori-kun."

"Good night, Kahoko. Good morning, actually."

"I'm sorry, I'll be more careful in the future."

"Thanks. Bye."

"Bye."

I hung up and pressed my cellphone to my chest, smiling like crazy, heart pounding. Happiness was too short a word for what I was feeling. Bliss, bliss...Isle of Bliss, oh, Debussy, you had it right. That piece is exactly what I'm feeling like right now.

Author's Notes:

Yay, Tsukimori-kun ness. Heheh (blushes bright red). Somehow I can't quite get his voice right, but I think that's because he never says unnecessary things, and it's hard to write someone like that.

About the content getting more mature later on: There will be nothing explicit. Ever. But some of the issues I will deal with will definitely stretch your boundaries if you keep reading, more in a philosophical sense than anything else.

Also, I highly recommend listening to all the music I mention in this fic. They are absolutely gorgeous pieces. If you can listen to them while reading, so much the better.

**Edit:** I received a notice from a reader that something I had previously written in the Tsukimori-kun conversation was insensitive and incorrect. Therefore, I have gone back and edited it out. Thank you to that reader for your concern!

Anyway, translations:

Urusai: annoying/shut up


	4. Chapter 4

Movement 4: A Dur

"Oi, you're still off on the second beat."

"Sorry!"

"And watch your pitch on that D sharp. Don't make it sound like an E flat."

"Aren't they the same pitch?"

"Completely different! Haven't you ever heard of the difference between real pitch and equal temperament?"

"Um..."

Tsuchiura-kun made Usa, slavedriver extraordinaire, seem like a kindly old smiling piano teacher, the kind named Yamamoto-sensei, who sat with their cat in their lap and applauded after every song.

"Speaking of Front, Center."

"Hm? I didn't say anything about her."

"You were thinking about her. I could see it on your face."

"I was just thinking that I haven't seen her in like three years. Apparently she's set up camp in one of the practice rooms and won't come out. Sleeping bag and all."

"Good for her. At least we won't have to hear her annoying voice for awhile. A person like that gets a lightbulb above their head, and then gets totally absorbed in what they're doing until they burn out completely." His eyes twinkled at me. "I knew someone like that in high school. It was cute."

"And what happened to this person?"

"She matured and figured out that the best way to improve is to do it steadily." He reached over and grabbed my bow, which I'd set down on the piano cover, and tapped my head with it. "Back to work."

"Konbanwa, Grieg," I said to the score. "How have you been? Oh, pretty well, how about you? Not bad, you know, the usual. How do you like the piece? Couldn't you have made it the least bit easier? Well, if you'd analyze the music, you would _understand _it."

"You sound like Front, Center."

"Do not. Grieg is the one who said that."

"No, I mean, I think you're starting to go crazy."

"Yeah..." I sighed and lifted my violin. "Again?"

We played through the first half of the piece, almost without any errors this time, and when we'd gotten to the half-way mark, Tsuchiura looked up at me and grinned.

"Not bad, Hino."

"Not bad yourself. But of course you missed the eighth note of the thirty-second measure."

"What? I did?" He instantly began scouring the score for the error. I laughed at him. "No, I was just making it up. Do you honestly think I could point out a mistake with that precision."

"You should learn to."

"Ugh..."

"Right. Again."

It was an hour and a half later when we finally had to call it quits for the day. My arms were just about falling off.

"I'm tired," I whined as he walked me back up to my dormitory. "Carry me?"

"Okay." As I turned in astonishment, he bent double and caught my waist across his shoulder, hoisting me into a fireman's carry, taking my violin with his other hand.

"Oi! Not cool, what if someone sees us?"

"Then you'll learn to wear longer skirts."

I gasped and twisted to look around at him. "No peeking!" He just laughed at me. "Stay still, or I'll drop you."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I might not have a choice."

His footsteps fell, heavier than usual, in the thick, humid July night. The cicadas were almost deafening. It occured to me that as soon as the recital was over, our short vacation would begin. I knew Tsuchiura-kun and Usa would be sticking around, but I also knew that they had their own various pursuits.

"...Tsuchiura-kun?"

"Yeah?"

"How's soccer going?"

"Okay. The team's really looking up. We might have some tournaments coming up around winter break."

"Oh." The thought of him leaving for the month of winter break made me feel somewhat lonely. The months passed so quickly. It hardly seemed that school had been going for three months already. "How are classes going?"

"Good. Except for theory, I'm the head of most of my classes."

"How do you manage it all?"

"Hi. Mi. Tsu."

"You're just a bloody genius. Why must my life be plagued with such people?"

"You chose the wrong field for mediocrisy, Hino. And besides that, you're a genius in your own way, so don't go about getting jealous over what other people are good at."

"What am I a genius at?"

"Getting people to enjoy music."

I smiled. "That sounds like a handy thing to be good at."

"It is." He paused. "Maybe you'll help someone to remember why he first loved music in the first place."

I wondered if he was talking about himself or Tsukimori-kun.

"And do it every day of his life, forever," he continued quietly.

Uh oh. This was not going down a good path. We'd started this conversation before.

"Look, there's a little campus shrine," I said, to distract him. "Got any change?"

He set me down and I skipped a couple of steps ahead while he slipped a couple of single-yen coins into the wooden slotted box, contemplating the little music diety amid its quaint trappings under the small shelter. "You coming or not?" I asked, looking back, when it seemed that his "worship" had passed its obligatory dues.

He was just gazing up at the sky. "Stars."

"Yeah. What about them?"

"They're bright and beautiful tonight. But not the only thing." He lowered his gaze and met my eyes purposefully.

My feet were rooted to the ground, and couldn't take another step. He was the one who closed the distance.

"Hino. You know why Yunoki-sempai suggested the violin sonata?"

"Um...no..."

"I think he was being nice."

I laughed. "Yunoki-sempai? Being nice?"

"Oh, I know how he treats you. Don't think I haven't noticed this whole time. But he was being nice to me, genuinely nice. He picked the one instrument that I would rather play alongside than any other." He took one more step forward.

He was so close. I didn't know if I wanted to turn and run or step even closer.

"Well," he said, lightly, tapping me on the head and passing by, "I'm sure you still have homework to do, so let's get you back to your room, kay?"

The summer air was cool, and the sky was clear, but my cheeks were very warm.

.

"You CUT your HAIR?"

Yunoki-sempai gave me the hypocritical sweet smile he reserved just for me. "I'm so glad you like it, Hino-san."

"You CUT your friggin' HAIR."

"Well observed. Is college destroying the purity of our sweet Hino-san?"

"Oi. Hino. Come. Sit. Play." Tsuchiura sat down at the piano and hit A4 noisily and purposely.

I took out my violin and started to tune. This was just a dress rehearsal, but I wanted to do my best. If I hadn't learned anything else from Kumoyama-sensei yet, I had at least learned to never tune sloppily. When I was finished, I nodded at Tsuchiura, and we breathed as one and began to play, my first set of eighth, sixtheenth sixtheenth rhythms connecting perfectly with his first chord.

Even during our practice sessions, we had never played like this. It was...breathtaking, really. I thought playing with Usa was magical, but this...this was...unearthly.

I put all my passion into it, making the violin sing as though it had a human voice, in this melancholy key, C mol. Tsuchiura's notes were neither less than nor overcoming mine, so gentle that they scarcely seemed to come from such a huge instrument.

It was a long piece, and now that I think back on it, two months was a rather daunting demand to make on a beginning violinist, but did it matter? We let the music lead us, never faltering, never hesitating, spinning on and on.

At the end, Yunoki-sempai smiled, as always, and applauded from where he sat in the front row of the auditorium. "Well done, you two," he said. "It'll be an honor to have you play for the first piece after the intermission."

"Yunoki-sempai? Is anyone else playing an intermezzo?"

"No, just you two. But don't worry, Hino-san. I have full confidence in your abilities." And he gave me that smile that let me know that every once in a while, he was actually sincere.

"Anyway, just be here a couple of hours ahead of time tomorrow, okay? I'm looking forward to it." He walked out with his flute in tow, along with the couple of stage assistants and technicians who had been touching up last minute details, and left us alone.

Tsuchiura-kun began to close the key cover, and then, thinking better of it, lifted it back open. "Hino, would you be alright with working over this one passage with me? I understand if you need to get back," he added quickly.

I shook my head and walked over to him at the piano. "What passage were you thinking of?" I asked, peering over his shoulder at the music.

"This here, from rehearsal D," he said, pointing. "Because it shifts to the major key in this section, I wanted it to feel more lighthearted...on my part, I mean. Yours was perfect. I was impressed, Hino. I have to admit I was mean."

"What?"

"I deliberately chose this piece to test your skills. Well, I guess I always knew you could do it. But really, you've surprised me. For someone like you, with no musical background, to just begin music, and come this far...you must be special."

He turned over his shoulder and grinned at me. Then he grabbed my chin and touched my nose with his index finger.

"I...don't deserve such praise," I mumbled, thinking of all the help I'd gotten over the last two years, starting with Lili, and from everyone during those first concours, and from both Tsuchiura-kun and Tsukimori-kun.

As my eyes wandered, thinking, I'm sure you can guess about whom, Tsuchiura-kun sighed and released me. "Hey, let's go over it now, and head home, okay?" he said.

I nodded, and we practiced the section again. Something occurred to me while we were playing it, though, something that made my heart stop and my fingers, too, in the middle of the passage.

"Hino, are you okay?" Tsuchiura-kun asked, when I stopped. "Sorry, I'm keeping you out so late..."

"No, I'm fine," I said, "I'm sorry to hold you up. Let's do it again."

We did. And again. And while we walked back to the train station to head back to campus, and him to his sister's, we were both silent, remembering those notes.

Because what had occurred to me was this: It wasn't that there was anything wrong with the passage the first time. It had been perfect, and Tsuchiura-kun had wanted to play it with me again, just like that. And I had, too...

.

"Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." I adjusted the spaghetti straps on my lavender dress and looked hard at my reflection in the full length mirror. Maybe my sister had been right about the "freshman 15". At any rate, the top of the dress wasn't fitting quite the same as it had the last time I'd worn it in high school. I made a mental note to go on a diet.

"You should come on out," Tsuchiura-kun's voice came from the other side of the dressing-room door. "Although we aren't playing for the first half, we should be backstage to cheer on Yunoki-sempai."

"Coming." I picked up my violin case and headed for the door. As I opened it, Tsuchiura-kun's eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly.

"Eh? Are you okay?" I started to walk down the hall, him beside me.

He was still looking at me, and at the dress. I began to feel a little self-concious. "I think I've put on a little weight...Ahahaha!" I laughed nervously and touched the back of my head.

"It's not a bad thing," he murmured, and then blushed furiously.

Hmm. Now what was that supposed to mean?

We sat in a pair of metal chairs backstage, where Yunoki-sempai was touching up his tuning for the final time and running over a couple of difficult passages. "You two are ready? You look very beautiful, Hino-san. Both of you look very nice together. Picture? Give me your camera...and smile! Well, that's my call," as the stage manager beckoned from the curtain that lead to the stage. "Ready?"

"Ready," I answered, watching him leave.

Through the heavy curtain, softly, came the notes of his first song. I sat there and listened, and Tsuchiura-kun sat there and watched me with a far-off look in his eye. Yunoki-sempai came in and out for his various short breaks and water, with smiles, of course, but Tsuchiura-kun wasn't paying attention.

The last song before the intermission, I was beginning to get worried.

I don't think Tsuchiura-kun has fully recovered yet, dear Reader. Perhaps I should give him a little encouragement?

"Well, this is it!" I said cheerfully. "I'm excited, how about you?"

"Mmhm."

Warning. Warning. Bad sign when your accompanist is out of it. I reached over and smacked him on the head.

"Itai...what was that for?"

"You. What in the world are you thinking of? We're supposed to be focusing on the music, remember? Stop dreaming about soccer, or whatever it is."

He lost his temper. "Oi, I'm not dreaming about soccer! I'm definitely thinking about the music! Just the music! I'm wondering how you're going to play in a dress like that, that's all!"

"Huh? What's wrong with my dress?"

"It's too tight, Hino. How can you breathe in that thing?"

I narrowed my eyes and looked away. "It's not like there's anything I can do about it now," I said, loftily. "I can breathe just fine. You, on the other hand, look like you're about to pass out. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing! I just don't want all the guys in the audience to look at you in that dress and think weird things, that's all!"

"What? What weird things? You're the one who's thinking weird things, Tsuchiura Ryoutaro."

He reddened even more, if possible, and "hmphed" as he crossed his arms and looked away.

I felt a little bad. "Ne, Tsuchiura-kun. I'm sorry, okay? I said something unnecessary."

No response. Mayday, mayday.

"Just think about the music, okay? We can't mess this up for Yunoki-sempai, no matter what. We have to do our best."

"You always do your best, Hino," he answered quietly. "Every day, every moment. I look at you and I feel inspired. I want to do better, because I see you working hard."

Our eyes met, and suddenly I couldn't breathe.

"Excuse me, please get ready," whispered the stage manager. We broke our gaze, and I gave a final, quiet tuning to my violin.

Then we stepped out on stage together.

I believe everyone on earth is familiar with that universal sensation, stage fright. After a few times, you begin to get used to it. But when the bright lights first hit you in the eye, and you realize that you can't see anything period, and then your vision begins to clear, all there is is the stage. You must put the audience behind you.

At the moment, neither of us were thinking of the audience, or the stage, or anything else.

The music we made that night made the night previous seem like a distant dream. "Allegro con passionata"...do you know what that means? It means, "Quickly and passionately."

Our music told about us, about the feelings that were confusedly swirling around, about our uncertainty, about hope. That passage that we'd worked on last night glided on the air, swooping and floating.

I wondered if I'd ever be able to play with anyone else again.

And then it ended, and for a moment, nobody applauded, the last notes heavy on the ears of everyone, still ringing, even through the silence afterwards. Then the whole audience broke out into cheers.

Tsuchiura-kun and I looked at each other for the first time since we'd started the piece, and we smiled as we bowed. Uncertainty? It wasn't there anymore. Hope was blossoming.

We walked back offstage, on air, it seemed.

And so...we stood just there, backstage, flooded with after-performance adrenhaline, and just stared at each other with maniac-wide smiles on our faces.

Then he started to laugh, and I did too, and back there, surrounded by old stage sets and musty instrument cases, we let loose and howled like a pair of old hound dogs until the tears streamed out of our eyes.

"Um...are you two okay?" asked the stage director, peeping from around the curtain. "It would be best if you quieted down. The audience can't hear you, but Yunoki-san might."

"Yeah, it's okay," Tsuchiura-kun said, still grinning like mad. "Just give us a minute to cool down."

The stage director gave the thumbs up, clearly used to this sort of exhilarated reaction from first-time performers, and left us alone.

The laughter was gone, but the exhileration wasn't yet.

"That was awesome," he said, looking down at me and putting an arm around my shoulders for a sidehug. "You were awesome."

I giggled and returned the hug. "Yeah, not too shabby for a first college performance, huh?" I winked at him. "You were pretty good, too."

He caught his breath suddenly, and I became aware of his bronzed face growing darker under the red glow of the dim back-stage lights.

His grip on my shoulders became firmer, and suddenly he turned me all the way around and hugged me full-on.

"Kahoko," he breathed against my hair, "you are amazing."

The prickly stubble along his chin brushed against my forehead, and I became aware, in that minute, of how much of a man Tsuchiura had become, right under my nose, over the last year and a half.

I let myself become enveloped in that manliness, enjoying the strength of his lean torso and broad shoulders, smelling his slightly metallic after-shave, and for a minute, I forgot the concert, I forgot the music we had just made, I even forgot the violinist I was waiting for in Europe. This felt right, and I hadn't even noticed this entire time.

Our rhapsody was cut short by the insistent buzz of my cellphone, buried in the depths of my backpack I'd left backstage. I sighed as I pulled away, reluctantly, and stared into his eyes for just a brief second before running over to throw the contents of my backpack madly onto the floor.

"Come on, come on, where are you?" I muttered, before my hand closed around the object of my pursuit. I snatched it up and opened it. One missed call. I hardly needed to see Tsukimori-kun's number on the screen to know it had been him. Damn! I pressed "redial", but got a busy signal.

I sighed and leaned back on my heels dejectedly. Behind me, Tsuchiura also sighed, and the two of us waited there, each feeling disappointed. At last he walked over and offered me his hand like a gentleman.

"I think we should get out into the reception hall to greet the audience with Yunoki-sempai," he said, and I accepted his hand.

**Author's Notes:**

Translations:

Himitsu: secret


	5. Chapter 5

Movement 5: E mol****

By the time I got back to my room that night after the recital, the girl who was supposed to be waiting with a smile and winsome comments on how good my performance was, had already disappeared back into the practice rooms. ****

"Oh, what was I expecting, anyway?" I grumbled as I sat down on my bed and wearily discarded my high heels. ****

I could still feel where Tsuchiura-kun's chin had rested against my forehead. Guy's faces are scratchy, but somehow I found myself not minding.****

"Oh, Kahoko, Kahoko, you are a little butterfly," I sighed to myself, flopping down onto my back and staring up at the unpainted wood of the underside of the bookcase above. But how could I help it? My heart was still pounding. Why was I thinking about how much bigger his hands were than mine right now? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair to me, it wasn't fair to Tsukimori-kun...****

But there it was, wasn't it? It had been almost two years, after all. I couldn't help but wonder, is he ever going to return? ****

Should I just be content with the one who's been here the whole time, right beside me? They do say you should marry your best friend, after all...  
**  
**Wait, wait. Hold your horses, Hino Kahoko. Don't you dare use that word so flippantly. Careful what you wish for, they say. ****

But still...I replayed his hug over and over in my head. Even though I felt guilty, I still enjoyed the feeling in my heart, so tight and so dizzying, even as it faded and I started to want another, even longer hug. ****

I needed someone to talk to, someone to anchor me down to the ground. Usa would serve that purpose beautifully, I think, but naturally at the only moment I wanted her, she wasn't here. Actually, she would probably mercilessly pound the idea out of my head that guys were even worth my time, and probably call Tsuchiura-kun one or two choice names that she'd already tried out on him at sundry intervals.****

I picked up my cell and phoned home. I think that's stolen out of some random B-rated American film, but I can't remember the name.****

Ring, ring. "Hey, Kaho-chan."****

"Hey, Onee-chan. How are you doing?"****

"Pretty good. Work is going well, and there's this guy that I really like...but I probably shouldn't be talking about such things to my baby sister..." She giggled a little in a way I wasn't particularly enthralled over. Sheesh. Older sisters.****

"You do realize I'm in college now."****

"Oh, Kaho-chan. College isn't so grown-up, even though you think it is now."****

"Okay, nice talking to you, too. Bye."****

"Wait, Kahoko. Sorry, I know I'm being a jerk."****

"Jerk-face with jerk filling." Jerk rights had been established between us a long time ago, and I'm pretty sure my credit balance was higher than hers.****

"Ne, Kaho-chan. When are you coming home? Mom misses you like crazy. She says it's been forever since we saw you."****

"It might have to wait until winter break. I'm totally loaded up to my neck right now with homework and practice, and our summer vacation is really short, so I'll probably stay here..."****

"Wakata yo. Well, she isn't the only one who misses you, you know. I miss you, too. And your friends Mio and Nao have been asking about you everytime I see them. Haven't you called them at all?"****

Crap. I'd been so busy that I'd forgotten to. I wrote a mental sticky note in my mind to get them down to the city for tea sometime. ****

"Other than school, how are things going?"****

"Shouldn't it be the other way around?"****

"Nope. School is important, but what's more important is who you meet. That guy from your high school, he's there, right? You two getting along well?" Her tone implied more than the words.****

"We hang out sometimes. We played in a recital together tonight."****

"Uh huh."****

"That's all. Really."****

"Uh huh. And your roommate? Guy or girl?"****

"Girl, obviously! Getting along with her is like trying to eat Jell-O with chopsticks. Seriously, this girl..." And I went off into a tirade, relieving myself delightfully of all the things Usa was and wasn't, and how she got up noisily at hours which couldn't be considered morning at all, and her schizophrenic eating patterns, today vegetarian, because eating animals is Murder, and tomorrow buying a bag of imported beef jerky from wherever you import beef jerky from. I told her how rude she was, and how annoying she could be about getting homework done, and how she thought she knew everything and always fought with Tsuchiura-kun and...****

...And the door was open and my roommate was standing there with Hiroshima and Nagasaki on her face.****

"Um, gotta go, Onee-chan," I said, and hung up. The World War II remnant marched over, grabbed my arm, and deposited me outside the door before going back inside and locking the door.****

Gah...crap. She knows my habit of leaving my keys on the desk.****

I tapped on the door. "Usa, I'm sorry already. Let me in. Hey, you'd better not be getting into my chocolate stash," I added with annoyance as I heard candy bar wrappers being shelled.****

Defiant crunches from inside.****

I sighed and leaned against the door. "Uuuusaaa...Look, yeah, everything I said to my sister was true. You're an annoying, know-it-all brat who thinks of nothing but herself. You're also bloody intelligent, and extremely talented and motivated and..."****

"Shut up. I'm trying to hear myself eat."****

"Eh?"****

"Percussionists must be able to create any sound effect the composer asks for. If the instructions are, 'Hit the second desk of violists over the head with a cat until they plead for mercy', the percussionists must comply. I'm trying to figure out how to incorporate the sound of chewed peanuts and caramel into an oboe concerto."****

I was over my "nice" limit. "See, this is why no one likes you. You say things that make no sense, just so that everyone else will think you're smart."****

"Go away, Hino. Go sleep with Tsuchiura-kun, or something."****

"What, are you _jealous_?"****

"Are you kidding me? Jealous over the girl who just rang up all of my negative traits to her older sister over the phone, without even considering all the adorable characteristics that make me _me_, or jealous over the egg-headed Macho-san who disagrees with me at every available interval, major, minor, augmented, diminished or perfect?"****

"Wha...are you bi, or something?"****

"Yes, bipolar and currently rather pissed."****

I sighed and went and hid in the empty room across the hall until I heard her sneak out and go back to the practice rooms. At least she'd left the door open for me. That was a good sign. I think.****

.****

"Ah, Tsuchiura-kun. You're leaving?" We were already two weeks into summer vacation, but the practice rooms were still noisy.****

He paused where his hand was closing the door to the practice room and looked like a little sad puppy for a brief second. Awww... "Yeah. You're coming?"****

"Yes. I have an hour before my violin lesson, and I thought I'd be as warmed up as possible beforehand." ****

He grinned. "Kumoyama's hard, huh? You even have lessons during break. But I've heard that no violinist that has stuck with him has come out without job offers. Stick with him, and you'll get somewhere, I promise."****

"What I'm worried about is him sticking with me," I grumbled. "Every lesson it's, 'You call that playing, Hino? What that is is noise. Noise. Learn to play before you step in my office next time. Again, again, again!'"****

Tsuchiura-kun laughed a little at my frowning, old-man voice impression. "The best teachers are usually the most eccentric, I've heard. Well, do your best, Hino. I'm sorry I haven't been able to help you with piano lately. But there's a concert this weekend if...you know, if you have time..."****

I noticed how shyly he stated the proposal and winked at him slyly. "I think I can spare an hour or two, for you, Tsuchiura-kun."****

My teasing had more of an effect than I expected. His entire face flushed, and he stepped forward so quickly that I stumbled backwards, and he caught my arm to steady me. ****

"Okay, I'll buy the tickets, then." He was still holding onto my arm. I didn't try to pull it away.****

"What's the program?"****

"Liszt's Transcendental Etudes and Paganini's 24 Caprici. It's a parlor concert, actually, so it won't be a huge affair. We'll have to take a bit of train ride to get there, though."****

"Sounds fun. I'm looking forward to it." I finally pulled away, somewhat reluctantly, and smiled at him. "Well, I should practice, and you should get to..."****

"Soccer."****

"Again?"****

"Yup. I currently have no life at all. In fact, the only one I'm ever able to make time for is..." He trailed off, and the fading blush sprung back to life.****

"Okay. Well, then, ja matta ne."****

"Ja ne."****

I watched him all the way out the door, and as it closed behind him, I sighed and leaned up against the nearest practice room door. I jumped when I heard tapping from the inside. ****

"Oi, Kaho, you just going to stand there?" I turned and saw Ichi inside, grinning at me. I backed up, and he opened the door.****

"Ichi-san."****

"Noooo. Just Ichi. Don't be so formal, lovey. Come on in, I want to show you a tune."****

Lovey? ****

"Ooookay..." I stepped inside and closed the door. The little practice rooms always made being with other people so intimate, but Ichi hardly seemed to care that I was female. After a couple of minutes I warmed to his careless nature and stopped caring myself.****

"Okay, first listen to this." He played a tune on the piano, with three fingers and no sheet music. Even so, the sound was gorgeous and full. "What is it?" I asked.**  
****  
**"Rachmaninoff's 'Variation on a Theme by Paganini'. Originally it's the backward version of a song." He played the original, and it was catchy, but just didn't have the magic of the first.****

"Now, Ichi's 'Variation on a Variation on a Theme by Paganini'." He grinned, and then lifted his violin and started to play.****

Ichi was a decent violinist, a little sloppy, but not bad. He scooped up to all the high notes and made the bow laugh on the way down. I thought my playing was purer, but his was more lively. He played through the variation, and though it was recognizeable, it sounded completely different. ****

"How did you do that?" I asked, clapping when he'd finished, to his exaggerated bow. ****

"It's called a Scotch snap," he said, and tapped on the side of the piano with his hand. "Short long. Short long. You won't catch anyone before 1900 using that rhythm. Just mention it to a certain counterpoint-loving pianist we both know, and she'll wince like you hit her. It's hilarious. I've already tried it. Anyway, it's very characteristic of folk music. And another thing." He played a scale, but the end sounded unfinished. "You've heard of modes, right?"****

"I've heard of them. They're what make Western medieval chants sound so mysterious, right?"****

"Yup. The one I just played is a mixolydian mode. It starts on G and goes straight to G without playing the F sharp. Because the leading tone is flat, it's hard to make any songs sound finished. It mellows the sound and makes it a little sadder."****

For never coming into class earlier than 15 minutes late and getting the lowest scores in the class, Ichi sure was smart!****

"Here's another one. You try it. Play from D to D without any sharps or flats."****

I did. It started out minor, but toward the end it took a whimsical, ironic twist.****

"Cool."****

"Deshou? It's called the dorian mode. There are six that are used regularly. The only one that isn't is B to B, the locrian mode. Wanna know something else? In the medieval times, they didn't even use the major and minor scales that we do now."****

"Seriously?" ****

"Yup. They just used the four other modes, dorian, phrygian, lydian, mixolydian."****

"Do the major and minor ones have names too?"****

"Yes. Major is ionian, and minor is aolian."****

There was a lot more to music than at first glance! But at the same time, I found it immensely exciting to find out about this new angle of music. ****

Ichi noticed the look on my face and grinned. "You're cool, Kaho. I like someone who still enjoys music. There don't seem to be very many around here," he sighed, thumbing out at the rest of the practice rooms. "They all take it so seriously, they aren't having any fun. What's the point, huh?"**  
****  
**"Exactly." I grinned at him, and then remembered the time. "Kuso...sorry, Ichi-sa...Ichi. I need to get going. I've got a lesson in half-an-hour and I still haven't warmed up."****

He nodded and picked up his violin. "Sure thing. Thanks for talking."****

"You too."****

Alas, my well-planned out warm-up time was not to be. As I exited Ichi's room, I glanced across the way, and beheld, for the first time in about five days (except for classes), my so-called roommate. She was playing nothing but running arpessios, over and over, and yet...it sounded beautiful. I stopped to listen. Every once in awhile, she'd skip from one note to another, making a little hiccup, at which she would stop immediately, glare the offending finger into submission, and run through those few notes several times until she was satisfied that it wouldn't happen again. ****

All at once, she stopped, wincing, and rubbed her right forearm. Was she okay? I reached for the door handle.****

"Kahoko-chan!"****

Eh? I hadn't heard that voice in a long time. Turning around, I beheld...Kaji Aoi. ****

"Kaji-kun."****

"Hey, how are you doing? I came here for this week just to see you, you know."****

"Heheh..." I didn't know exactly how to react to that.****

In his usual carefree manner, he put a hand on the wall next to my head and leaned in with a grin. "Are you free this Friday night?"****

"No." The answer did not come from me. It came from a certain tall green-haired young man, soccer ball under one arm and frowning a little.****

"Tsuchiura-kun."****

"Forgot my homework," he said, by way of explanation, and turned back to Kaji-kun. "As a matter of fact, Hino here has a concert to go to on Friday night...with me."****

"Ah, well, can't be helped. Saturday, then?"****

"You'll never give up, will you."****

"Nope."****

Tsuchiura-kun sighed. "Fine then, we'll settle this the old-fashioned way. Seven o'clock tonight, out on the basketball courts."****

Kaji-kun narrowed his eyes. "Winner takes Hino-san to the concert."****

"Deal."****

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," I spluttered, "since when did I become a prize?"****

They paid no attention to my undignified protestations and continued to glare at each other. At that minute, the door we were standing outside opened outwards, smacking Tsuchiura-kun in the face.****

"Itai."****

"Oi. You. You have a lesson in like five minutes," said Usa, ignoring Tsuchiura-kun completely. She grabbed my arm and tugged me after her. "Come. You'll waste my time if this lesson isn't perfect, you know."****

"Hey, Hino," Tsuchiura-kun called after us, "Be down at the basketball courts tonight to cheer me on, okay?"****

"Will do," I waved at him before being shoved through the door.****

.****

"It's a battle of pride."****

"It's a battle for honor."****

"One on one to ten baskets."****

"Fear not, though, my peerless princess," Kaji-kun called over to me, where I was sitting on a bench to the side of the court. "I shall vanquish mine foe and claim your heart forever."****

I covered my face with my hands to hide my embarrassment. ****

"First to score a three-pointer takes possession."****

At this point I shall, with great effort, take off the suffixes from their names for the duration of the game.****

"Right." Kaji stood at the top of the circle in front of the net, and gracefully flung the ball at the basket. It bounced off the rim and Tsuchiura caught it and took his place. His banked off the back, but tipped to the side and didn't go in.****

Kaji grinned. "A little rusty, eh, Tsuchiura?"****

"It's been awhile," was Tsuchiura's only comment, but I noticed he looked a little more worried than before.****

Kaji's next shot was true, and Tsuchiura caught the rebound and threw it back to him for a check before guarding him. Kaji feinted to the right, then dodged left. Tsuchiura read the move easily and stole the ball, taking it back up front and scoring a three-pointer from the top. The orange sunset illuminated their silhouettes and the chainlink fence against the already-dark buildings beyond the trees, like a movie backdrop. ****

"Still only counts as one."****

"I know, I know."**  
****  
**Kaji took the ball back and skirted around Tsuchiura with an amazing burst of speed, taking a lay-up easily. ****

And so it continued. I'm sure I do not need to provide you with a play-by-play. Just imagine all the little scenes in movies where the adolescent boys play sports one-on-one as if they are locked in a death-duel, usually over girls or bikes or other such meaningless plot McGuffins just to have a sports scene in an effort to hook all the teenage boys. Never works, by the way. Anyway, there you have it, and Tsuchiura took the last basket, and Kaji's efforts were for naught. Sucks to be you, Kaji.****

Recommence "kun"ness. ****

Tsuchiura-kun smirked as he twirled the ball on his index finger. "Game's up, Kaji. Concert goes to me."****

Kaji-kun, whose face had fallen into abject disappointment, ran up to the bench I was sitting on and took my hand in his. Geez, but boys are hot after a sports game, sweat glistening on their faces and arms, t-shirts clinging to their chests and showing off the hours in the gym. Da-amn. "Well, at least come to dinner with me tonight, Kahoko-chan. I'll treat you to curry."****

I like curry. ****

"I'll treat you to curry and take you out to ice cream afterwards," came Tsuchiura-kun's voice as he walked over to the two of us and smacked away Kaji-kun's hand.****

Shoot. I like ice-cream, too. ****

"I'll treat you to curry, take you out to ice cream afterwards, and give you tips on violin technique, too," Kaji-kun said, but he was glaring at Tsuchiura-kun.****

"I'll do all that and help you with theory homework," said Tsuchiura-kun, glaring back at Kaji-kun.****

It occured to me that the two of them had forgotten that I was there altogether, and were actually _bidding_on me.****

"Too bad, boys," came Usa's voice from behind me. She winked at me cheerfully. "I won't do any of the above, but I will show you a video I found on U-Tube of that guy you like playing with the Florence String Quartet."****

If you leave her alone long enough, Usa will forgive anything. It was a hard-learned lesson, but a worth-while one. Plus, she knows my weak point like the back of her hand.****

"Seriously?" I got up and turned to her. "I've been looking for that video for ages! How did you find it?"****

"It helps to know how to proxy onto the Italian page. Game's over, boys. Go home and lick your wounds."****

"Still on for that concert next Friday, Hino?" Tsuchiura-kun called after us as Usa steered me away from the basketball courts. "You bet," I yelled back, looking over my shoulder. And as I did so, it hurt, gentle Reader. It hurt to see two boys who had just realized that my heart was already taken. **  
****  
**But I didn't know yet how that person felt.****

That didn't injure my speed, though. "Come on, Usa," I said, starting to run.****

"Well, no need to get in a fu-renzy about it," she said, looking so proud of herself.****

Usa was never great at giving up what she considered to be a good joke.****

"That was horrible."****

"Frankly, you little lizard, I'm surprised you got it at all."****

"Oh, I'm a reptile now. How original."****

"Give me a break," she said, huffing a little as we took the stairs up to our room two-by-two. "You have no idea how much energy it takes to be mad-cap all the time."****

Laughing a little at her, but feeling my short, white skirt and pink top clinging to my body due to the double force of running in humidity, I took out my keys to unlock our door, but found to my surprise that the door was already unlocked. I threw her a scowl. "Usa, didn't you lock the door before leaving this morning?" But her expression was just as surprised as mine.****

"No, I asked the resident director to unlock it for me," came a male voice from inside.****

I gasped and threw open the door. ****

He was there, sitting at my desk, in all his blue-haired glory.****

"Tsukimori-kun..."****

He smiled ever so slightly as he stood up and faced me. "I'm back, Hino."****

**Author's Notes:**Well, there you have it. The long awaited reappearance of Len Tsukimori! Confetti everywhere! Incidentally, Usa's pun is because the Italian way of saying "Florence" is "Firenze". I think it's probably pronouced the same way in Japanese, but come to think of it, "frenzy" isn't a Japanese word, so the whole thing probably makes no sense anyway. ****

Translations: ****

Wakata: Got it ****

Ja ne/Ja matta ne: See you later****

Itai: ow


	6. Chapter 6

Movement 6: G mol

"Tsukimori-kun."

Beside me, Usa pushed her way into the room and stared none-too-tactfully at him, mouth open. Instead of the usual "He is male and therefore I must defeat him in every subject" look she normally reserved, she turned to me with shining eyes.

"What the f*ck, Kahoko! He's so adorable! Can I name him?"

"Out, roomie," I said firmly, and pushed her protestingly out the door, stealing her keys in the process and locking her out. I heard her whine annoyedly, and then sulk her way down the hall.

As soon as I turned around to face him, I regretted making her leave.

Have you ever met someone again for the first time in a really, really long time, and you had confused feelings about them the last time you saw them, and even though you've stayed in contact, you really haven't? If so, there's no need to describe how I felt right now. On the off chance that you haven't, here you go.

I looked at him, and he was just what I remembered, blue hair that was always falling over his forehead, melancholy amber eyes looking at me with a thousand inexpressible expressions, hands long and slender and delicate. But it was like looking at a stranger. I'd forgotten exactly what his face looked like, and it felt like I was looking at it again for the first time. He was taller, and older. He seemed to have aged more than I had, but maybe that's because I hadn't noticed myself age. There was something in the firmness of his jaw that spoke of maturity and a newfound sense of determination, and he was thinner, too, which was a little scary considering how slender he'd been to begin with.

The funny thing is, he was looking at me exactly the way that I was, like looking at a complete stranger. His eyes were roving from my hair, to my clothes, to my face. I couldn't read his expression as satisfaction or disappointment yet.

"Hisashiburi desu ne, Tsukimori-kun."

"Sou da ne. How have you been, Hino?"

Here I'd been so looking forward to hearing him call me by my first name, face-to-face, and yet he was reverting back to "Hino". Not that I could blame him. It was as if I had known two Tsukimori-kuns: one from school days, one just from the delights that we call modern technology. We'd been carrying on as though we weren't separated, calling from time to time, emailing, texting, and yet now that the reality was here, reality struck. And reality hits hard.

"Well, just, you know, the same-old, same-old," I said, with a laugh that even sounded false to me. "Do sit down, Tsukimori-kun. I can't imagine how tired you must be, after a long flight, and all that."

"I'm okay," he said, but sat back down at my desk anyway.

Awkward silence. I hate the word awkward. It reminds me of the animal that Usa would be if she could be any animal but herself: a platypus. The only thing more awkward than a platypus is a newborn horse.

"I'll make some tea," I said, to fill the silence, and grabbed my hotpot and marched out to fill it from the communal drinking fountain out in the hall (see what I mean? Low budget dorms, people!). As I watched the trickle very very slowly fill the pot, I took a deep breath and recollected myself. Okay. So this wasn't quite the way I imagined. I wasn't throwing myself into his arms and exclaiming how much I'd missed him. He wasn't smiling that gorgeous smile that only showed up when he was absolutely pleased. We weren't exchanging, "Oh, how I've missed you!"s and "We'll never be apart again!"s.

Sucky.

I walked back to my room and tried the door. Damn. I'd locked it when I'd shut Usa out, and now both pairs of keys were inside with Tsukimori-kun. Joy, Kahoko. The very picture of thoughtfulness and maturity.

I knocked on the door. "Hey, can you let me in, Tsukimori-kun? I seem to have locked myself out."

"Can't. I'm in the act of taking off my shirt."

"WHAT? Oi, let me in, let me in!"

I heard his very, very slight chuckle, through his nose. "Joking," he said. I heard him walking to the door.

"Wait. Just a minute," I said, leaning with my back against the door. I blew out my breath. It felt more like I was talking to him now, the Tsukimori-kun I'd been talking to and messaging the last almost two years.

"Tsukimori-kun."

"You okay out there?"

"Yeah. Ne, how have you been?"

I heard him pause, then I felt the door shudder slightly as he leaned up against his side and slid down it. I did the same.

"It's been hard, Kahoko. It really has. You go to Vienna, confident that you'll succeed, and then suddenly you're thrown in with all these child prodigies, and all the encouragement you've gotten back home suddenly just feels like cold water. My master always seemed so disappointed in me, even though I practiced my hardest, every day, despite the long hours, despite the reviews that praised me after my debut"

"That must be hard."

"It was. It still is."

I sighed, thinking for the first time that as hard as I thought I had it, being compared to all the other music majors who had been doing this since they were kids, it must be nothing compared to what Tsukimori-kun must be going through. The pressure of having to work so hard every day, and still knowing that there was always someone more talented, or who worked even harder, always someone to be compared to and fall short, must be enormous.

"I'm sorry, Tsukimori-kun."

Silence. Then, "It isn't your fault." Sigh. I felt the vibrations straight above my head as he let his gently fall backwards on his side.

"Ne, Tsukimori-kun?"

"Mm?"

"I've been working hard on the violin, you know."

"I expected as much. I can't wait to hear it."

I felt tingles start from my fingers and toes and work their way up into my scalp. He couldn't wait to hear me. Hear me fail? (said the cynical side which was more talkative of late). No. He wanted to hear my music, for who knows what reason. And I couldn't wait to play for him.

"I can't wait to hear your violin, too."

I heard a somewhat discouraged grunt come from his side. "I wish I could give you a sound better than what I have, now."

"I know you've been working hard, too, Tsukimori-kun."

"Even so...But, Kahoko, you know what got me through all the long practice hours, and the relentless criticism, and the walls I kept running into?"

"What?"

"Knowing you'd be here when I got back to Japan. Just like you are now. Just like we are now."

I smiled, satisfiedly, and relished that moment, ever so briefly. Enjoyed it, and then stood up. "Let me in, Tsukimori-kun."

I heard him get to his feet, and unlock the door. It was still the Tsukimori-kun from ten minutes ago, but there was softness in his eyes that there wasn't a couple of minutes ago.

It would take some time to get back to where we'd been, two years ago. But I was willing to go through the effort.

The thought of Tsuchiura-kun, with whom I hadn't been thrown back to square one yet, crossed my mind, but I shoved it away indignantly as I plugged in the hot pot and readied the tea leaves.

Tsukimori-kun watched me mutely for a minute, and then he walked back over to the desk and sat down. I sat down on my bed and scowled at Usa's side of the room.

"Sorry it's so messy in here."

"I can tell it's not your fault. That girl who came in with you is your roommate, right?"

"Yup." Fortunately/unfortunately.

"Number one in her classes?"

"How could you guess?" I sighed, looking at the books and music arranged in who-know-what order on her bed and desk.

He almost smiled. "I bet she and Tsuchiura get along."

"Fantastically." Can we stop talking about my roommate and talk about you?

"How are you doing in classes?"

"Horribly."

"It doesn't matter."

"You're probably the first person to say that to me, aside from Ichi."

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Ichi?"

"Violinist. Fiddler, I should say. He's a riot. Wait til you meet him."

"..."

"Don't look at me like that, Tsukimori-kun. The guy is practically asexual."

"I see. Well, I need to go." He stood up and reached for his jacket, draped over the chair he'd been sitting in.

"Already?"

"Yeah, I have to meet with my manager. The woman thinks she owns my life. She even came all the way from Vienna, just to make sure I don't get in trouble." He sighed.

I held the door open for him and exited as he did. "I'll walk you out."

"Okay." He paused, and his hand moved toward mine, as though he meant to take it.

I held my breath.

He let his drop back down to his side.

"Well, can I see you Friday evening?" he asked.

"Yes!" I exclaimed. Then I realized. "Actually, I just remembered I can't. I promised Tsuchiura-kun I'd go to a concert with him that night."

"Cancel." His eyes bored into mine meaningfully.

"Can't. He won a basketball match just to take me."

"Oh, that's the way it is," Tsukimori-kun. laughed humorlessly, and the air between us got significantly chillier as we continued down the stairs.

"Well, here's my taxi."

"I should head back up."

"Call me after the concert."

"I will. Bye."

"Bye."

I watched him get into the taxi and drive off, and thought, Well, that was disappointing.

.

"Took you long enough." Usa was waiting in front of our door, expectantly. "Where's the guy?"

"Had to go back tonight."

"Bring him back later."

"..."

"What's got your panties in a bundle?"

There were still some things I was getting used to about Usa. One was her referal to my undergarments as indicators of my exasperation.

"Nothing," I said. Then I stopped. "Kuso."

"What?"

"I locked both sets of our keys inside."

"You are really fantastic at this, Kahoko."

"Crud crud crud. What do we do?"

Usa made a pretend check-list on her hand. "Well, we could (a) break the door down, (b) climb through the window or (c) pay the 500 yen fee to get the resident director to unlock it for us. Again."

We looked at each other. Then Usa craned her neck towards the door. "Hey, what's that hissing sound?"

"It's the hotpot! It'll run out of water and melt!" We both yanked at the door, forgetting it was locked.

"Right. Outside." We marched out and around, looking up at the window of our room from outside. We gazed up, three stories high. "Well, at least there's a fire escape," I said, and we made a dash for it, hoisting ourselves up and climbing the metal ladder. It stopped just shy of our room.

"Okay, I think if I stand on your shoulders, I can unhinge the window from the outside."

"You stand on my shoulders? Why not the other way around?"

"I weigh less than you do."

"...Screw you."

"Ready?"

"Okay."

I climbed up onto her shoulders and stood, very wobbily. Suddenly three stories, plus my roommate's shoulders, looked like a very long way down.

"Stand stiller," I hissed down at her.

"I'm already like a rock. Squeeze your butt as if you have a quarter in it."

"Seriously, Usa..." But it worked. I reached up and easily unhinged the window.

"Okay, give me just a couple more centimeters, and I can climb in and unlock the door."

"Okay. Be careful, okay? I'll meet you on the other side."

"Right." I heaved myself into the room and fell down on the inside. Brushing myself off, I stood up and looked around.

Brilliant. Really brilliant, Kahoko.

The two guys in the room that was NOT ours looked up, snapping shut the laptop they were staring at. "Whoa, check it out. It's not every day that a hot girl drops in through your window," one of them said with a smirk.

"Hey, Kahoko?" Usa's voice called from outside. "I just figured out that the window you climbed through isn't ours. Actually, the right one is closer, so I'll get in, and you try to get out of there before anyone catches you."

"Thanks, Usa," I called back through gritted teeth. "Sorry about this," I said to the pair of boys, who looked vastly disappointed, as I skirted around them and exited as quickly as possible.

Usa was waiting down in our bedroom with the door open.

"The time has come, the walrus said, to talk of...payment."

I groaned and smacked my forehead. Usa stood before me expectantly. I'd forgotten about paying her for her accompanying, and accompanists were expensive!

"Can you just wait until my parents send me my allowance?"

"Nope. I have a better idea." She pointed dramatically at the violin case. "One hour a day."

"Huh?"

"I get to practice your violin for one hour a day, every day that I accompany you. Cool?"

Actually, it was pretty awesome, to think of it. I didn't have to give her any of my (parent's) hard-earned money.

"I didn't know you played the violin."

"I don't. It's time to learn. How am I going to be a composer if I don't even know what I'm doing with a violin?"

I smirked, reached over and picked up my case to hand to her, sitting back and ready for some entertainment. "Give it a go."

She eyed the thing like it was a serpent, and then opened it suddenly and picked up bow and violin.

"You need to tauten the horse-hair, you know."

"I know, I know."

She readied herself and plucked at the strings, satisfied that they were already tuned to the perfect 5ths (since I'd already practiced before the basketball game). Then she closed her eyes, drew the bow across the string.

Screeeeeeaaaaiiitttchh...

I fell off the bed laughing. She gave me a dirty look. "I was expecting that, you know. Give me an hour or two, and I'll be able to produce a decent sound. Something better than that junk you like to listen to."

"Oh, for the love of..." The other day I had been happily listening to Arashi from my speakers on the computer. The door had opened, and I'd looked up to see the most disgusted look possible on Usa's face. Then she'd slammed the door shut and went into hiding until I'd turned the music off.

But I had to admire her tenacity. She played out her hour on that thing, and by the end, she actually was able to play a full D scale without screeching.

.

"Ready to go?"

Ooch. Tsuchiura-kun, when he was trying to look good, looked really, really, good. In his grey sports jacket and black slacks and button-up shirt, with a red tie, I was just about ready to swoon.

"You look nice," he commented, gazing at the jade-green dress and matching jacket I was wearing. It was significantly less revealing than the dress I'd worn to Yunoki-sempai's recital, for a reason.

"That's my line," I said, smiling back at him. He offered his arm. "Well, shall we go?"

I smiled and took his arm. "Ready when you are."

We walked down to the station, laughing and chatting lightly. It was so different from my last conversation with Tsukimori-kun, even though Tsuchiura-kun was playing it up and acting gentleman-ly tonight.

"Ah, Friday nights," I sighed, as we squeezed our way onto the train, standing room only, and just barely at that. Coupled with the stifling humidity, it was practically unbearable. He grimaced.

"Sorry about this."

"Don't worry about it. I don't mind standing for awhile." The train began its annoying high-pitched squeal, and we started off.

Holding onto the yellow handholds above, each meticulously marked with some random advertisement, we found ourselves staring into each other's eyes. It felt like that night after the Grieg violin sonata. I wanted another hug.

Nobody was speaking on the train tonight, except for a pair of housewives down in the next car, giggling and chattering as they clutched their shopping bags. We watched them jostle in that strange sensation that you get, as though your car is the one staying still, and the others are the ones bumping around. The business men were sitting and reading or trying to sleep; the high school girls were texting on their cell phones, the shyer ones hiding their faces with their hair; and Tsuchiura-kun and I didn't subtract from the silence, because there was too much said between us right now, anyway.

"Sugi wa, Yudanaka. Yudanaka desu," came the polite female voice overhead, and Tsuchiura broke our gaze.

"Our stop is next."

I took his offered hand and braced myself against him as the train slowed down. He barely budged, though the force of the lack of momentum pressed me harder against the side of his arm.

I began keeping a mental tally. One point for Tsuchiura-kun, zero so far for Tsukimori-kun.

"Thanks."

"I'll always catch you when you fall," he said with a wink. I felt my face grow warm for the umpteenth time.

"Corny," I said, to hide my embarrassment.

"That's why I think Usa's having a good influence on you," he said as we slipped through the doors of the train and into the crowded station, bumping against people roughly as we did. "You're much more flippant and honest. Before you always seemed ironed and starched, unless you were depressed."

"How is being flippant a good thing?" I asked.

"Makes you more interesting to be around," he said with another wink.

The concert was fun. I like that sort of setting, cozy and intimate, where you look around and smile at everyone else. You can't do that in a concert hall. You can't look sideways at the person next to you without them assuming that you're about to eat them...or worse, say something aloud. Tsuchiura-kun and I sat next to each other in cushioned seats and whispered to each other between songs.

The musicians were a pair of soloists, husband and wife, the husband being the pianist and the violinist being the wife. The songs were each unaccompanied, but you could feel the influence of the other in their music.

Tsuchiura-kun smiled at me often.

It was about half-past ten when we exited, talking about the music, and lo and behold, we found that the trains had stopped early, and here we were, five miles from school.

Tsuchiura-kun sighed, surveying the dark station. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. "I'm sorry, Hino. I didn't know this station closed off so early."

"It's okay," I said, but secretly I was thinking, Five km in the dark, huh...And the air was starting to get nippy, too.

"Hm? You cold?" He asked, seeing me shiver. "Come on, let's get going."

We pointed our shoes north and started to walk.

"It must be nice," he said, suddenly, as we passed by shops closing their metal doors for the night.

"Nice?" I asked.

He nodded. "I mean, to live your entire life with someone who understands the way you do. Loving music together, forever; playing, being able to talk about it or just listen to it in silence. Don't you ever feel that way?"

"Mm." I'd never thought of it before. Truth was, before two years ago, if you'd suggested that I marry a musician, I'd have laughed at your face. Very politely, of course. But before I'd gotten to know these guys, before the concours, I'd thought classical musicians as high-brow snobs, who only ever associated with their peers. I guess I was right, in a way; I would never have gotten to know any of them if I hadn't had Mahou violin.

"Look, here's a combini," Tsuchiura-kun said, pointing up ahead. "Wanna get oyaki?"

"Sounds good," I said, feeling my stomach grumble.

As we walked down the almost-empty streets, slowly, munching our warm snacks, I realized I'd left my coin purse at the combini.

"I'll be right back, okay?" I said. "Don't move a muscle."

"Eh? Oi, Hino, wait, I'll come with you..." but I was already halfway back.

I found said coin purse, carefully set aside by the smiling, very polite cashier, and headed back out to find him.

Was it this street, or the next one down?  
**  
**I stood there, rather stupidly, looking from one corner to the next, and then the voice, coated with the scent of sake, came at my ear. The night air got suddenly chillier.

"Rather late for a young lady to be by herself, eh?"

I gasped and tried to turn around. The man, whose face I'd yet to see, already had my upper arm in a vice-like grip. "TSUCHIU..." was all I was able scream before my mouth was covered.

Men are strong, and women are weak. It is the curse that nature has endowed us with. But we forget, don't we, because the men that love and respect us treat us gently. They let us punch them on the arm, and beat them at arm-wrestling. It isn't until you get into this kind of situation that you remember what kind of strength a man actually has.

I struggled anyway, but not for long.

WHAM. The steel-hold on me released, and I fell forward, gasping for breath. Strong arms caught me and got me back on my feet, and then left me just as quickly.

"Tsuchiura-kun..."

I turned around to see the two men flailing on the ground, Tsuchiura-kun on top, and very angry. He struck the other man's face, rapidly, without holding back, several times before I threw myself on top of his arm and clung on.

"Tsuchiura-kun, yamete kudasai, he's drunk..."

"People are responsible for getting drunk," he said through gritted teeth. "Even if the law doesn't hold them responsible for their actions afterwards, I will."

"I know, but I'm only thinking of you. Calm down. I'm okay. Let's just head back, okay?"

He paused and looked at me, and giving the man one last shake, got off and put his jacket around my shoulders, lifting me up with him. I snuggled into the warmth left over from his body heat.

"I will never allow anyone to hurt you, Hino."

"I know."

We walked back down the dimly lit road, all that way, and I didn't even protest when he put one arm around my waist and took hold of my hand with the other.

**Author's Notes:**

Bleh, sappy ending. Sorry. I ran out of inspiration at the end. 

In Japan, trains usually run to around midnight, but if you're unlucky you might get caught without a train that stops early (speaking from experience...). Combinis (like 7/11) are really popular, and are open all night long. Oyaki is like a flour omelet...sort of thing...it's hard to explain.

Translations:

Hisashiburi desu ne: It's been a long time, hasn't it?

Sou da ne: Yes, it has

Sugi wa...: The common train announcement for the next station, "Next is..."


	7. Chapter 7

Movement 7: D mol

Post-vacation midterms. Joy of my heart. Not.

Usa never stepped into our room without a book, and drilled me constantly. "You need it more than me," she reminded me constantly. I wanted to hit her, but she was right. "You spend too much time attempting to catch up with Tsukimori," she added. Right again. There's nothing more annoying than someone who is right all the time, except for someone who insists they're right all the time and really aren't.

Since that initial imbroglio of meeting Tsukimori-kun again and realizing that, in fact, we had to learn to like each other again, when I have to admit he'd been difficult enough to learn to like in the first place, what had followed can be summed up in the conversation we had the day before my theory midterm:

"Hello, Hino?"

"Yes, it's me. What's up, Tsukimori-kun?"

"I was wondering if you had any time to talk today. I'm sorry I've been too busy since I got here to actually meet, but..."

"I would love to, but unfortunately I've got a midterm tomorrow."

Silence on the other end for a bit. "Wakata. When do midterms end?"

"Tuesday of next week."

"Hm. I've got to run over to Fukuoka on Tuesday for an at-home mini tour."

"When will you be back?"

"Saturday."

"In that case, I'm sure that we can meet, and I can pull an all-nighter to study tonight..."

"No, that's a bad idea. You need your sleep the night before exams."

"You sound like my mother."

"That may be because she's right."

Tsukimori-kun has always been a little *** about his sleep schedule, and unfortunately has the idea that everyone else should follow his ideals, too.

"Well then, after Saturday?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll see you then."

"Yeah."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Seem a little forced? Oh, well observed. Because now that I'd met the Tsukimori-kun of the 2-year break, he was leaking into my phone-and-email Tsukimori-kun, too. I felt a little indignant at the former.

So far no points for Tsukimori-kun. Hurry up, Tsuchiura-kun is beating you.

Midterms, for all you dread them beforehand, are usually over before you know it. I found myself looking at Tuesday with more than a little boredom ahead staring back at me. Usa and Tsuchiura-kun naturally squabbled thoroughly beforehand, tied for the best scores during, and scowled at each other afterwards.

Tuesday afternoon brought some half-hearted practicing, a quick call to Nao, and my roommate blazing in at about 3:30 with the accompanying darkness that would have put Moses's miracle in Egypt to shame. (I've always been particularly fascinated by that Western story, by the way. I mean, what stupid Pharoah would make his nation go through all that just for a group of slaves? I would have been like, Oops. My river is now blood. Go and have fun, sacrificing animals or whatever barbaric things you like to do in the West.)

"What's up?" I said to her, with a hurried bye to Nao.

"Vocal majors. I loathe them."

"You think they're pretty?"

"No, you twit. I said I loathe them."

"Oh. Why's that?"

"They're like the jocks of the music world. Pretty and dumb and useless, but everybody else pays attention to them because they're 'cool', and they can't even tell the difference between a bass clef and moveable C clef."

"You sound like Tsuchiura-kun."

"If I didn't think that was a compliment to my piano, I would strangle you in cold blood right here. The authorities would come and ask me why I did it and I would..."

"Oi, you wanna come have tea with me and a couple of friends tomorrow afternoon?" I asked, cutting off what I'm sure would have been a highly entertaining and completely useless diatribe.

"Eh?" She sounded genuinely surprised.

"Tea. You. Me. Mio and Nao. Fun. You know, the taboo word, the one you'll never catch yourself saying aloud? That one."

"I know what f...fu...fu..."

"See, I knew you couldn't say it."

"I was playing along with you, silly. Fun, fun, fun. Let's go."

One of the beautiful things, the very very few, along with her eyes, beautiful things about Usa, is that if she sees an opportunity to make your joke funnier, she will play along at her own expense.

"Kay, then, I'll call back Nao and let her know," I said, giving her a once over and thinking about Operation: Get Usa to Live a More Normal Life, part B.

Hence, tomorrow rolled around, and for the first time since school had started in April, I finally got to see Mio and Nao again. The first thing we did at the station where we met up, was run at each other like two football teams and hug each other altogether, jumping up and down and squealing, while Usa just looked disgusted and awkward behind us. Have I mentioned that my roommate has a terrible sense of fashion? Today she was murdering knee-high boots, baggy jeans, a Hawaiian patterned t-shirt and baseball cap. Aside from the fact that I really couldn't get why she was wearing boots in mid-September, I could feel my two friends thinking the exact thing I was.

We set aside our mutual feeling for the time being and began walking to the tea shop we'd decided on. I felt like myself for the first time in ages, arm and arm with Mio and Nao and taking up the entire sidewalk, while Usa walked behind.

"How have you two been?" I asked, smiling widely. "You're attending the same college, right? It sounds like so much fun! What grades are you planning to teach when you get out?"

"Kindergarten," said Mio, while Nao said at the same time, "High school." The three of us all laughed together.

"That sounds so cool! The kids will definitely love you, Mio. You're so sweet and kind-hearted, you'll make a great kindergarten teacher. And Nao, what subjects are you planning to teach in high school?"

"Hm, I've been thinking about it for a while, but I finally decided on Western literature."

I laughed a little. "Well, if anyone's smart enough to teach that subject, I'm sure it's you."

"We're here," came Usa's voice brusquely from behind us. The three of us looked up, slightly taken back by her tone of voice, and laughed. "So we are," Nao said, smiling at Usa. I noticed Usa's right eyebrow beginning to twitch as she did so.

"Orders?" The waitress asked politely, after we had settled and taken up the menus.

"Hm...I'm not sure. What do you think, Mio, Nao?" I asked.

"I don't know either! Everything looks so good!" said Mio.

"I'm trying to decide between Formosa Oolong and Kukicha, but..." said Nao.

"Well, one of us has to decide," I laughed. The waitress smiled patiently, as the three of us discussed whether it would be better to get different teas and share them, or be safe and get something we all knew we liked. Oh, and should we order snacks now, or after tea? The traditional was before, but we liked to...

"Dragon's Well Chinese green, please, and make sure you get the temperature right," Usa's voice broke in, loud and crisp as usual. When I looked up at her, she looked away. What the heck?

Me and my two friends looked at each other, shocked into silence, and desperately trying to make up for her impoliteness.

"Well, in that case, I think I'll try some Earl Grey," said Mio, smiling. "English teas are so unique. Maybe it's a good day to try it."

"I've decided on the Oolong," chimed in Nao.

"In that case, I'll get the Kukicha, so that you can have some," I said, and the waitress, smile still firmly in place, nodded and whisked off.

"Hey, Usa, would you mind taking a picture of the three of us?" I asked, still trying to alleviate the moodiness emminating from her side. She listlessly took the camera and, as the three of us crowded together with "V" fingers, stonily clicked the shutter and handed it back to me without a word. The three of us were already laughing, however.

Our genkiness recovered, we continued to chat. Mio, it seemed, was receiving attention from a certain young man from the math department.

"He's cute, but I'm not sure if I want to go out with him," she sighed. "Math guys usually get good jobs, but then you're forever branded as the girlfriend of a geek."

"Oh, give him a chance," I told her. "You never know when that sort of guy will turn out to be really sweet, even if he doesn't seem like it at first."

"You'd know," laughed Nao. "Speaking of which, how is that violinist doing? I always liked Tsuchiura-kun better, but I have to admit that that other guy is pretty cute."

I sighed. "I don't know, Nao. He's come back from Europe like he's someone else entirely, or maybe I just didn't know him well enough to begin with, and I thought I did, or...Well, in any case, I will try my best to become friends with him again!"

I caught myself mid-twitter at a murderous look in Usa's eye. I hadn't realized until then that I'd gone back to "sweet" Kahoko, optimistic and eternally smiling, even when I didn't feel like it. When had I started acting so sarcastic and...so realistic? It must have been hanging around Usa; she had been rubbing off on me like charcol until I'd started to adopt some of her character. She was either a horrible influence on me, or...

But right now, I really wanted to make Nao and Mio comfortable. Even if I was starting to realize how fake I sounded.

"Here's your tea," said the smiling waitress.

"Mm, it looks so good!" said Mio.

"I knew this was a good choice," said Nao.

"But you can try some of mine, anyway," I said to her.

Usa remained silent and sulky.

"Hey, you want to go out shopping afterwards?" I asked my two friends. "My wardrobe has begun looking so drab recently. I haven't bought anything new in ages."

"I thought you were still waiting on your allowance from your parents," Usa said pointedly.

"Well, yeah, for extra things, but this is a necessity!" I laughed.

"You guys go and have fun. I have practice to do at campus. Ohohoho," she gave a very shufu-like chuckle.

"No, you don't," I snapped at her, finally. "You, missy, are coming along. I'm sick of getting color-spots in my eyes from looking at your side of the room."

She stuck her tongue out at me. "Nobody's forcing you to look, you know. Or do you want to?"

"Oh for the love of..." I caught myself, realizing that Mio and Nao's expressions had begun to take on the "The devil is spawning before our eyes, and I thought she was our best friend" look.

"Well, in any case, let's all try to get along and have fun, okay?" I smiled at her, but it had become rather forced by this point.

Usa's eyebrow twitched more vehemently.

Amid various protestations, we forced my roommate into the nearest department store.

"Just look for something you like," I told her, steering her toward a rack of shoes. "You know, something you think is cute."

"None of this is cute," she said, darkly. "It looks like something I would put on my dog Bowser."

"Usa, please, just try."

She sighed and randomly selected a pair of high heels.

"Those aren't even your size."

"Ah, true." It came to my attention that her eyes were starting to fuzz over, and she didn't even seem all there.

"Well, I'll select something, okay?"

"Mrmm..."

I walked over to where Mio and Nao were discussing a certain dress, and began flipping through shirts.

"Oi, what's with your friend?" Mio whispered over to me conspiratorially. "Is she actually female, or what?"

"Oh, she's definitely female," I said. "I room with her, after all. I can assure you that she is female, and very un-self-conscious about it, too."

"She seems so on edge," sighed Nao. "I just want to help the poor thing."

I'm sure that if she caught you calling her a "poor thing", she would scoop your vocal chords out with a spoon.

"Well, in any case, this will look nice on her, don't you think?" said Mio, smiling, as she held up a delicate, creamy blouse with short sleeves run through with lace.

"And this would look good, too," said Nao, holding up a navy-blue, patterned, layered skirt.

I held up a couple of other items I'd found, in pretty pastels.

"Right." Operation Part B in progress.

.

"I look ridiculous. I look like an egg."

"You look better than you ever have."

"Cream is not my color. Nor is pink, nor is baby-blue."

I gritted my teeth as I looked at my roommate, standing barefoot in the dressing room. She was still as friendly as a stuffed pincushion.

"But the cut of that shirt is really good for you," said Mio cheerfully. "It brings out the feminine curves of your waist and hips."

"The nonexistant curves, you mean."

"But I think we should go for a lower hem on the skirt," said Nao thoughtfully, denting her chin with her finger. "If we add in a pair of high heels to make your legs look longer..."

"Oh, I know I'm not a runway model," Usa said curtly, and I exchanged glances with my friends.

"We'll look for something else, then."

"No. I want to get out of here. This place is more claustriphobic than a woodwind practice room."

I saw Nao get a sudden, "Ah!" look on her face, and she disappeared around the corner of the dressing room. I saw Mio read her expression and head off, too.

Usa looked nonplussed as she played with the crimped edging of the bodice. "Look, I've scared them off now," she said, emotivelessly.

"No, you haven't. I've seen that look on Nao's face before. Wait til they get back."

She sighed. "I hate this place. I get in, and I start to hyperventilate, and my face gets puffy, and I break out in hives..."

"I have never heard of anyone who was allergic to department store before, Usa."

"There seem to be plenty of things you've never heard of. Like borrowed chords, for instance."

"Oi, I didn't know they'd be on the exam. If I had, I would have studied them. You seemed to be well-informed enough; why didn't you quiz me on them while we were studying together?"

"I thought they were too obvious to waste time on."

"You know what the problem with you is..." I began, but I was cut off as Mio and Nao burst back in, grinning widely and holding up a black, simply but elegantly cut, dress, and black-and-white, low heeled dress shoes. "Tada!" Mio sang sweetly.

Usa backed away as if they were holding machine guns. "No way."

"Yes way. Into them, into them, or I'll put them on you myself," said Nao, getting into the swing of "how to handle Usa".

Usa sighed and reluctantly took the clothing and disappeared behind the curtain. "But this is the last thing I'm changing into," her voice came out.

Nao winked at me. "If I'm right, this will transform our ugly duckling," she said.

"Eh? I thought it was an ugly chicken?"

"You never were good at English analogies, were you, Kaho-chan..."

"Right, don't laugh," came Usa's voice. She brushed aside the curtain. All three of us gasped and smiled.

"Perfect."

"Yes. Definitely. You are buying this dress."

"Really?" she asked, looking at herself in the full-length mirror and twisting her hair up onto the back of her head, then letting it fall back down. Unless my eyes deceive me, she actually looked pleased. The flush on her pale cheeks made her seem much prettier.

"I do feel like I could play a concerto in this," she admitted, to herself, turning sideways. Then she noticed the tag and blanched.

"Price be damned," I said firmly. "We'll all pitch in."

"I won't let you."

"Yes you will."

"No I won't."

"Usa," I said exasperatedly, "If you don't I'll steal your copy of the Rimsy-Korsokov 'Principles of Orchestration'."

She threw me a terrified expression. "You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, you better not try me, Missy."

The Usa-dragon had been defeated, ladies and gentlemen. Although I still had to figure out how to get her into some decent casual wear.

.

"I suck at being around other girls."

"Yeah, you do."

"Frog."

"Stop referring to me as random amphibious creatures."

"I will have you know that I think frogs are cute. Other than that, the resemblence is remarkably striking."

Usa had been particularly snippy ever since we'd gotten back to our room. "What's got your panties in a bunch, huh?" I asked, throwing her own catch phrase back at her.

"They aren't."

"What?"

"Commando today."

"Oh, God, Usa. TMI, for pity's sake!"

"I'm joking, really, I am. I'll prove it to you if you want."

"Thanks, I'll take your word for it."

She smothered a giggle, but the twinkle in her eye betrayed her. Then, quick as lightning, she went back to being pissed off for no good reason.

"I just...see other people having fun together, and I get so...mad. I'm a rotten person. Throw me into a compost heap and let me fertilize the ground."

"What...? Usa, make sense, or I'll sell you to a freak show."

"You wouldn't even get a good price for me there," she replied gloomily.

"Why do you think you're such a rotten person?"

"Because. You know. I make other people's lives miserable. They try and help me out, and I throw cold water on them. Soapy water, none-the-less."

"Well, then, you know you do, so just stop."

"I told you ages ago, I've been trying to reform and just can't seem to." She looked at the black dress hanging outside the tiny closet on her side and sighed. "It's just that...I've been trying to figure people out for so long. Why some people are popular, and others aren't. Why their jokes are funny, and mine aren't. I try to get buddy-buddy in a group, and they just shut me out. Why?"

"Oh, Usa. You don't get it, do you."

"What. What don't I get. Explain to me, Kahoko." She looked at me expectantly, cross legged on the bed, and I could see that she was actually trying to learn. Which is more than I can say for a lot of people.

I crossed over to her side, which happened just about once in a blue moon, and sat down on the bed next to her. "You know how people always say, 'Be yourself. Like yourself, and everyone else will, too'?"

"Of course. They're bloody wrong."

"They're right and wrong. Yes, you need to be nice to get along with. Yes, you need to not show off every time you're sad and depressed or angry. Yes, you need to be artificially cheerful once in awhile. If we all went around acting how we actually feel, all of the negative emotions would just feed and feed off of each other."

"True." I could see the wheels in her head turning already.

"But as for your personality, what makes you _you_, as you say, don't change it. Keep being random, keep saying weird things that make people laugh for no good reason, or stop and think."

"People don't always appreciate it."

"_I _appreciate it."

"That's because you're used to me."

"Exactly. Do you really want the people you don't know, whose opinions you don't trust, the stupid jock-like vocal majors, who never consider anything except what other people think about them on stage, or those who only see you in passing and never think about you again, to be the ones you're trying to impress?"

"No."

"Then be yourself, and the ones that will actually like you will stick with you firmer than anyone ever could. You take forever to get used to, Usa, but you're impossible to dislike afterwards."

There. I've said it. Go ahead and laugh.

She thought for a moment, and then gave me the sweetest smile in her mismatched wardrobe.

Usa should wear that smile more often.

**Author's Notes.**

Oh, I can hear the groans now. "That's it? You give us six chapters of anticipating Tsukimori-kun's return, and all we get is a crappy phonecall and a botched shopping scene?" Sorry, but that's life, ne? Especially in the music world.

No Japanese this week; last week someone was kind enough to point out some errors I'd made in chapter 6, to which I'm very grateful, and someday when I'm feeling less lazy I'll correct that chapter. Some of the Japanese I've picked up is not 100% accurate, since I've just heard it around while I was living in Japan a bit back, and tried to write it down. Bleh...I really am lazy. I repent in sackcloth and ashes.

The thing about vocal majors is actually a pun. In Japanese, (to the best of my knowledge!) Usa is saying, "Vocal majors...kirai desu," but Kahoko thinks she says "kirei desu". Kirai means to dislike; kirei means pretty.


	8. Chapter 8

Movement 8: E dur

"Mo ichido. You're not feeling the melody."

I sighed and began the phrase again. He let me get all the way through this time.

"It's hard doing the phrasing on just one string." Kumoyama-sensei had given me Bach's "Air on the G String" as my current assignment.

"That's exactly why you're playing this piece. If you can't even master the G string, which is the most mellow, how are you going to work with all four?"

The truth was, I couldn't think at all. It was only Thursday, yes, that's right, the very day after my shopping trip with Mio and Nao plus Oni-Usa, and I'd gotten a text from Tsukimori-kun about meeting on Sunday. I looked forward to it in that way that you dread going on stage for a performance, but at the same time, I was anxious to amend our friendship.

Oh, you may moan, venerable Reader, that I am dragging this out, putting more tension in the story by making the two Star-Crossed-Lovers wait even longer before the fateful meeting, but how do you think I feel? Checking my calendar every ten minutes, only to find that it's still just Thursday? It's killing me! Time is like cold molasses. (Does molasses freeze? I've been meaning to find out, but you can't exactly get it in Japan very easily. Even if I did get my hands on a jar of some, it's likely my mom would whisk it out of my grasp to make gingerbread, before I could put it in the freezer. She spent a winter in England, a long time ago, and that's one of the Christmas memories she remembers most.)

"I think the fault that last time was mine, Kumoyama-sensei," came my accompanist's voice. Usa is always willing to take the blame for me, I've noticed, unless we're practicing alone. "I broke up the slur over my measure too suddenly and..."

"If I was going to correct your playing, little Rabbit, I would have directed that comment at you."

Ah, so that's where the stupid nickname came from.

"Anyway, I can tell you haven't been practicing much recently. I know about studying for midterms and all that, but you know how far behind you can get just by missing a day, and furthermore, you are already behind most of the violinists at this school."

Ow!

"On the other hand," he mused, more to himself than me or Usa, at the messy bookshelves, "a musician who gets a late start is more likely to love music. If you work hard, you'll surpass those who have playing since infancy."

Silence. Usa scrutinized her right wrist. She is much worse at hiding when she feels awkward than I am.

"Anyway, we're over time, so I'll see you next week."

"Hai. Arigatou gozaimasu," I said, bowing lowly and starting to go.

"Hino."

"Yes?" I looked back. Usa was already out the door.

"I heard from a reliable source that you are friends with a young man who just returned to Japan, Tsukimori Len."

"Yes." I blushed and coughed to hide it.

"That young man..." he hesitated and played an F sharp 6 on the keyboard absently, "Tell him to continue whatever it is he's doing to make that sound come out of that violin."

Come to think of it, I hadn't heard Tsukimori-kun play his violin at all since he'd left for Europe. Even getting a recording online was impossible, and Usa hadn't yet shown me the U-tube video, since the real thing had been there when we'd gotten to our room that time.

"I will, sir."

"Mm." His thoughts were already somewhere else, forty years ago, perhaps? "Motto renshu shite, kudasai," he added sharply.

"Yes, sir."

I closed the door behind me quietly, as though leaving a shrine, and peeked back through the blinds, which today were open. Kumoyama-sensei was holding up his hands as though pantomiming a violin, and had a far-away look in his eyes.

.

"Hm?" How very articulate Tsuchiura-kun was today. (And admittedly, how very cute, in a manly sort of way, gakkoi, really, stretched out on the bench in the sun, still glistening from soccer practice...Wait, Kahoko! Think Tsukimori thoughts!)

"I asked, can you help me out with piano today? My scores were rotten on the midterms."

"Sure thing." He started to hoist himself up.

"Ah, ah, it's okay! You don't have to do it right now," I said, flusteredly waving my hands.

He paused, half-up, in the way that shows off a guy's biceps best, you know, and then got all the way up.

"At your service," he said, mock-bowing for me. "C'mon, let's go."

"O...okay..." Why was my heart pounding like this? Why was I enjoying walking across campus with him? An early autumn butterfly buzzed me lazily, and I comiserated.

"Hey, look," I said, pointing as we passed the familiar theory room, "There's Hanada-sensei, teaching the second year class. What on earth is she doing?"

"What are they listening to, is the question," Tsuchiura-kun said, peering in through the glass, at the completely absorbed Hanada-sensei, seriously conducting the music inside. "Ah, I can hear it now. It's Haydn's 'Surprise Symphony'."

"I hope I'm like that at her age," I said, a little thoughtlessly. At Tsuchiura-kun's inquiring gaze, I added, "You know, full of energy and passion."

He grinned. "I couldn't imagine you without either," he said. "Well, we'll find out someday."

He was always saying stuff like that. Before it just made me a little mad; today I was fluctuating between extreme anger and swooniness. But I distracted myself by watching Hanada-sensei, who suddenly threw up her arms into the air as though she had been shocked out of her life.

We burst out laughing. The class inside noticed, even though Hanada-sensei didn't, and started laughing at us. She looked perplexidly at them, and then followed their gaze out the window to us, and made a mad dash for the door.

"Get out of here, you two!" she yelled at us, throwing open the door and waving her hands at us. We almost fell over laughing as we ran away, pursued by Hanada-sensei in hot pursuit.

Once we were safely out of shooting range, Tsuchiura-kun put an arm around my shoulders to steady himself. Clearly he was suffering from lack of oxygen, despite being on the soccer team and all that. "Wow...Hanada-sensei is crazy," he said, wiping away tears of mirth, before breaking out into chuckles again. The shade of the tree we were under played in patterns of lazy sunbeams along his cheeks and forehead.

I wasn't much better off in the oxygen department, but I wasn't moving out from under his arm, either. "Usa will be like that someday, if someone doesn't kill her before she grows up."

"Oh, no luck with that. That sort of person won't die if you shoot her with a missile in a flaming car driving off the Grand Canyon."

"Grand Canyon? Doko desu ka?"

"In America."

"Oh, I see." No wonder I didn't know where it was.

"Speaking of Front, Center."

I looked up. Usa was sashaying her way over, clearly trying out a new pose and smile for the people she passed.

"How do you do?" she said sweetly to an upperclassman, who gave her a very strange look which she, waltzing on, did not notice. "Beautiful weather, isn't it?" to a classmate.

TOO SUBTLE, USA.

She'd been trying much harder since Wednesday (ah, this is Friday BTW. Forget molasses. Time is half-way dried concrete mix). Admittedly, that courtesy did not extend itself to Tsuchiura-kun. Upon seeing the two of us, she marched up and stuck her chin up so that her line of sight was higher than his, and came out swinging right away, which he did not decline from parrying.

"Prick."

"Know-it-all."

"Show-off."

"Music snob."

"Mama's-boy."

"Whiny little girl."

"_Virgin._"

"Ow," whispered Ichi, who had snuck up next to me with a bag of movie-popcorn from who-knows-where, watching with great amusement. He offered me the bag. "Want some?"

"No thanks. Guys, cut it out. You are both just two very selfish, prideful, annoying kids who have to be the first in everything." That means you too, Tsuchiura-kun. Right now you're being very immature. Two points off on your side.

They turned to me with identical looks of "What did you just call me?" Uh oh.

"Hide," said Ichi, grabbing my hand and throwing the popcorn in their faces as if it were a smoke bomb. Then we started to run, although I have to admit I had no idea then or now why I played along with Ichi.

.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me. The Spanish Inquisition is nothing compared to the torture I'm going through right now.

It's still only Saturday, and furthermore, I'm up at the ungodly hour of 8:00 and can't get back to sleep because I keep thinking, "Today Tsukimori-kun will be coming back to Tokyo!" and at the same time feeling guilty because at noon Tsuchiura-kun and I are going out for sushi. To discuss the upcoming research paper, of course.

But in the meantime, I've got 32 more hours before Tsukimori-kun and I meet up for dessert tomorrow. I take back all former comparisons. Time is like passing a kidneystone.

...I definitely can't believe I just said that. I sound like Usa. Who, believe it or not, is already in the practice rooms. She's insane. Absolutely crazy. When does she find time to do homework?

So, four hours to kill, sleep having been murdered for me like in Henry V...or was it Hamlet? One of that famous Western lit guy's plays, the ones that Nao likes to read. What to do, what to do?

I'm sure this sounds incredibly cliché by now, but I'm doing it.

Speed dial: Tsukimori Len

*click* "..."

"Oyaho gozaimasu, Tsukimori-kun!"

"Ohayo. At least it's a decent hour of morning this time."

"Hehe. I told you I'd be more careful next time."

"I'm in Japan now, so it doesn't count."

Oni. Denying me a rare victory. "Are you already on your way back to Tokyo?"

"Not yet. I'll be getting on my train to get to the Shinkansen in a few minutes."

I smiled a little as I thought about it. "Tsukimori-kun? I'm looking forward to seeing you. I really am." From the bottom of my heart.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you, too. Actually, I have something I really want to show you."

This sounded more like my technological-acquaintance Tsukimori-kun. And he actually seemed excited. What could possibly get him so excited?

"What is it?"

"Hi. Mi. Tsu."

"Oni."

Oops. I actually said it aloud. Usa, you and your "speak before you think" ways are starting to rub off on me.

To my relief, Tsukimori-kun actually chuckled. "Okay, my train's in. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes!" Ack. Too overenthusiastic, Kahoko. "I'll meet you there, then?"

"Are you sure you're okay with a Western-type desert parlor?"

"Are you kidding? I love sweets." Three points to you!

"Bye." He cut off very suddenly. Can't blame him, though. Getting on trains can be a pain, especially with a load of luggage.

What did he have that he wanted to show me? Now time really was going by slowly!

I called Hihara-sempai after that, quickly making sure that I was calling him at a good time by checking online.

"Kaho-chan!" Still calling me that. But it's Hihara-sempai, after all. "It's great to hear from you! How do you like the college?"

"Hm...muzukushii desu ne..."

I heard his cheerful laugh. "Yeah, music college can be tough. But it's really fun, isn't it? You learn so much about music. I really enjoyed working with my trumpet teacher. He didn't make a big deal about my mistakes, just told me to put all of my expression into it and the rest would smooth itself out in time."

"I wish my teacher was like that."

"Who do you have?"

"Kumoyama."

"Ooh. I've heard that he's tough. But also that he's amazing, so just work with him, okay? Kaho-chan."

I've almost gotten used to the fact that he says my name like that just for kicks.

"How are things on your end?"

"Great! LA is really different, but it's a great opportunity to learn. The Hollywood Bowl is so cool, I wish you could come to a concert with me here sometime. It's all outside, so you get a lot of different people who come to listen, and it's very relaxed. Last night I went to watch the Ravel 'Bolero', and this guy from El Salvadore was sitting next to me and offered me a non-alchoholic cider drink. He said that the first time he saw 'Bolero', it moved him to tears, and ever since then, he's celebrated it like this. And there's this store called 'Amoeba' where you can get old records and..."

I found myself laughing as I was caught up into his conversation. "It sounds like you're having lots of fun, Hihara-sempai."

"I am." His voice suddenly got quiet. "Also, there's...someone..."

"Ooh. A female 'someone'?"

"Yes. I really like her, she's kind of like you. Sweet and pure and kindhearted."

"American?"

"Yes. Do you mind?"

"Why would I mind? It would be great if you started to date someone. You would make a really sweet boyfriend."

"Hm." I could practically hear him blush over the phone. "Actually, I meant to come back after winter break, but I think I'll be staying here for an extra semester."

"I'll miss you, but it'll be a really good experience for you."

"Thanks."

"For?"

"Everything. For being my friend, for enjoying music with me. I was starting to feel a little alone, you know, before that first concour. Everyone was taking music so seriously, and I wondered, 'Maybe I'm doing this wrong. Maybe I should be more careful, not play freely like I like to.' Then you showed up, and I knew right away that it was okay."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

"Anyway, I should get started on this paper. If I haven't done my share of the research by lunch, Tsuchiura-kun will kill me."

"You two getting along pretty well, huh? You always did. But Tsukimori's back by now, right?"

"Right now he's in Fukuoka, but he'll be back tomorrow."

I heard Hihara-sempai sigh. "Be careful, okay, Kaho-chan?"

"Eh?"

"...You'll understand soon, I think. Thanks for calling."

"No problem. Good luck with your 'friend'."

"Alice."

"That's a funny name."

"Hehe. She thinks 'Kazuki' is funnier."

"Ja matta ne."

"Ja ne."

I hung up and looked at the clock. More time had passed than I'd realized; it was already 11:30, and my roommate was already coming back in.

"Good practice?" I asked her.

"Mm. I think I'm overdoing it a bit." She rubbed her arms sorely.

Well, yeah, if you're going to start the day with four hours of practice and plan to go back for more in the afternoon.

Inspiration struck. "Hey, why don't you take a break? I'm going out to sushi with Tsuchiura-kun pretty soon. Wanna come along?"

She arched an eyebrow. "You sure it's okay?"

More than okay. I'll feel less guilty about it if there's a third person along. It'll be less like a date.

She read my silence as assent. "Sure, I'll come. But I need to be back before 3."

"More practice?"

"What else?"

"You should be careful."

"I know, I know." No, you don't know. You don't know when to stop, Usa. That's your real problem.

She smiled at me then, and tossed a small bag into my lap.

"What is this?"

"Open it up and find out for yourself."

I reached into the layers of colored tissue paper, and drew out a CD. "Wow, Yehudi Menuin! He's like, my favorite!"

She looked so proud of herself that I sadistically added, "Well, after Jasha Heifetz, and Midori Goto, and..."

She rolled her eyes at me but said nothing. Apparently the promise of sushi is all that will satiate my roomie.

.

"You brought that along. What in the world?" Tsuchiura-kun looked less than pleased at my choice of third-wheel.

"Please, Tsuchiura-kun? Besides, she'll be great at filling in details for the research paper."

"In other words, you didn't do your half."

Since when did you get so good at reading my mind? "I...tried..."

He sighed and shook his head with a little smile.

"Oi, let's get going!" Usa sang, one hand fisted up in the air as if she was chanting a victory cry. "Sushi, sushi, sushi..."

I hung back behind Tsuchiura-kun and tried to appear as though she wasn't in our group, as she marched forward with us following behind.

"Hey, guys! Over here, yoohoo!"

The voice could only belong to one person. We looked around, and behold, there was Hanada-sensei, lilac-pattern bedecked and all, waving like crazy to us. She crossed the street at a run and clapped Usa on the shoulder as she grinned at us. "Where are you all going today?"

"Sushi."

"Great! I haven't had lunch yet. Can I come along? Let's get going!"

Apparently our theory teacher has just invited herself to lunch with us. Halleluia. I'm surrounded by crazy/evil geniuses.

But I have to admit, she made conversation, laced with baseball-talk though it was, more lively. Between bites of sushi, she peppered us with music trivia.

"So, Tsuchiura, I really liked your interpretation of the Chopin 'Nocturne in E flat' that I heard you practicing last week." Apparently she also stalks the practice rooms. "It's an easy piece, but the hemi-demi-semi-quavers at the end are a bit of a trick, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean, I'm pretty good at Chopin, but the minor third runs are really fast. I wish my fingers would move faster."

"Part of the problem is that you're not playing them conservatively enough. See, part of harpsichord technique is that you keep your hands absolutely still, and the fingers rest on the keys, but only strike the smallest amount."

"Because there's no dynamic contrast on the harpsichord."

"Correctomundo. So no matter how hard you strike the keys, you won't get any difference. When it comes to Chopin, think the same way on those runs. None of this Rubinstein 'just press upon the keys until the blood oozes from your fingertips', okay?"

"Huh? I thought Rubinstein was renowned for his delicacy?"

"Anton, not Artur."

"Oh, I get it."

I didn't even know there was one Rubinstein, let alone two.

"Yokoso!" came the cheerful cries of the sushi chefs behind the bar, as the door opened, admitting slightly chilly air and more customers. I curled and uncurled my stocking-clad toes on the tatami of the raised platform we were sitting at, and enjoyed the remaining taste of wasabi hidden under the fish on the sushi, served on the currently empty little trays sitting on the low wooden table.

"You especially, Usa-chan," Hanada-sensei said, swallowing a gulp of green tea before turning to her. "You, young lady, are out to get it with that posture of yours, and how many hours you put in."

Usa looked away. "It's just so hard to get the notes accurate enough," she said. "I'm trying my hardest."

Hanada-sensei looked like she wanted to say something else, but a fresh platter of sushi had come out, and the four of us were rather occupied for a few minutes.

"You want to know something about old violins, Kahoko?" Hanada-sensei said when her mouth was relatively empty. "What would you consider to be 'the' violin to have?"

"A Stradivarius, of course," I answered.

"Ooh, yes, Strads are better known," she said, winking, "but I think a Guanerius would suit you better."

"Why?"

"Stradivari was well-known for getting better and better at violin making, so that the ones at the end of his life are the best ever. However, Guaneri have more personality. They are all excellent instruments, of course, but each one is very different."

"That's so cool. I wish I could play one someday. By the way, do you know anything about Amati violins?"

"Ah...Amati..." Hanada-sensei sighed and leaned back, thinking wistfully. "I assume you're talking about _the _Amati. There was a whole family of them, but Nicolo Amati is the one best known for giving the modern violin it's shape, which it's stayed true to ever since. Unfortunately," she shook her head, "they're so old, owning one is practically unheard of."

I wanted to ask another question, but my phone buzzed, and I glanced at it quickly.

Kahoko. I'm on the Shinkansen. I just wanted to let you know I'm looking forward to tomorrow. -L

Hanada-sensei winked again. "Friend?" Oh, the unstated implications of that word.

"She doesn't hide it very well, does she?" Usa said, winking back at Hanada-sensei. They grinned together like Cheshire cats.

Tsuchiura-kun bit into a piece of tuna viciously.

Oh, Sunday, come quickly.

**Author's Notes:**

Hi all! I kind of feel like this chapter is "filler", mostly for random scenes I couldn't fit anywhere else, so excuse me...However, what I talk about in this one will be important later, so it's not like I was sitting here, thinking, "Hm...how can I torture my readers more? I know! Let's put in random music trivia! Yay!"

I seem to be decending more and more into Japanese vocabulary, oh dear. Shikatanai ne...

Translations:

Mo ichido: again

Hai: yes

Arigatou gozaimasu: thank you very much

Motto renshu shite, kudasai: Please practice more

Ohayo gozaimasu: good morning

Oni: demon

Gakkoi: fine...in a masculine sort of way...cool...um...how else to put it? Chiaki Shinichi.

Doko desu ka: Where is it?

Muzukushii desu ne...: It's hard, isn't it? (used either to describe something, or it's difficult to describe something)


	9. Chapter 9

Movement 9: C mol

I hate third wheels. Even if I really like the guy himself, this is the most awkward thing ever.

It's Sunday, and I appear to be having chocolate ice-cream with two samurai. From opposing daimyo, nonetheless.

"You're eating so noisily," said Tsukimori-kun, not even deigning to give Tsuchiura-kun a look of disdain. "Urusai yo."

"You've been living abroad too long," the latter replied, slurping even more noisily. "This is Japan, if you will recall. Do you do this at ramen shops too?"

Okay. So exactly how did I end up with this situation? Unfortunately, it seems I will have to resort to a flashback, after all.

_"Ne, Tsukimori-kun! Over here!" I waved my hand cheerfully. He looked up, and what appeared to be the beginning of a smile started to creep up on his face. It was still that smile, though, the one that was uncertain, with too much time and too many experiences between us. I ached for the old smile._

_He crossed the street, carefully watching the traffic lights, and came over to join me on the sidewalk. "How are you doing?" he asked, his eyes never leaving my face. It was an odd question._

_"Well, you know. Mid terms were...passable. Sure is hot out today, isn't it!" I said, looking up at the sky. It was the kind of smothering, humid hot that presses down on you, threateningly. A few clouds were beginning to form in quick spurts, here and there, massing in curls._

_"Yes, it's supposed to rain later on," Tsukimori-kun noted, showing me the umbrella he'd brought. It seemed to be the only thing he had, and I assumed it wasn't "the thing he wanted to show me". _

_"Hey, wasn't there something..." I started to ask, but at that moment, another voice, filled with surprise, came from behind me._

_"Hino? Tsukimori..." I closed my eyes before turning around. Please let it just happen to be someone who sounds an awful lot like him. This is bad timing. Such bad timing. I want just one afternoon alone and you won't let me have it, I'm certain._

_I turned around anyway with a bright smile. "Tsuchiura-kun! What a coincidence! What are you doing here?"_

_"My sister's apartment is about a block that way," he said, "and I was just taking a walk around before getting on the train to head back to campus for practice." I noticed that he was also carrying an umbrella. Am I really that dense? ...Don't answer that._

_"Piano?"_

_"Soccer."_

_"Sashiburi da ne, Tsuchiura," came a steel voice behind me. _

_"Sou."_

_Uh oh. It's already begun. _

_"I didn't know you were back from Europe."_

_"I didn't know you were sticking around in Japan."_

_"Ah, heheh..." I laughed nervously. "Well, Tsukimori-kun and I were about to head out to ice-cream but..." Darn you, Japanese obligations of politeness. "I suppose it's been a long time since you guys have seen each other so..."_

_I could sense Tsukimori-kun's sulky admittance behind me as much as I could read Tsuchiura-kun's satisfaction in front._

_"Ikimashouka?" I said. "Um...I don't really know where the shop is, though..."_

_"It's this way," both of them said at the same time, pointing in the same direction, then glaring at each other and shuffling shoulder-to-shoulder for leadership._

_I watched them from behind. There must be a limit to how much teenage guy shoulder-space is allotted on these narrow little sidewalks. Right now they were pushing it. _

_"Irasshaimase!" came the cheerful voices of the ice cream tenders, behind the shiny steel counters and bright decor. I smiled in return, but the two boys were busy bickering about which side of the room to sit on._

_"This side has more sunlight," said Tsuchiura-kun, pointing toward the window-lined side that looked out on the street._

_"You forget that red-heads burn quickly in the sun," said Tsukimori-kun, folding his arms and walking purposely toward the opposite corner of the shop._

_"Ano..." I said, awkwardly, "I really did feel like sitting next to a window, so here's a booth that's half in, half out of the sun..."_

_They glared at each other, and then went with my suggestion._

_"Orders?" asked the smiling waitress. _

_"Chocolate," both of them said, and then glared at each other. "Change mine to vanilla," they then said again. _

_"I'll get strawberry, if you don't mind," I said._

_"Ano..." the waitress looked back at the two boys, and I hastily added, "They both want chocolate." I could tell by the set of both their jaws that I was right, but neither wanted to admit it. I smiled at the waitress for added confirmation. _

_"Okay, it'll be just a minute," the waitress said, leaving._

_There was silence for several minutes as the two of them traded off looking out the window and looking into the shop, without crossing glances in between._

_I felt something touch my foot and drew it back instinctively. "Sorry," they both said, and then looked up, startledly. I saw Tsuchiura-kun's eyes narrow slightly, and then Tsukimori-kun jumped._

_"Ow! What was that for?"_

_"Oops. My bad." Tsuchiura-kun smirked, then winced._

_"Ow!"_

_"Terribly sorry."_

_I reset both sides of my mental tally-board to "0". They were behaving like eight-year-olds fighting over a lollipop._

_"Um..." I fished around in my brain for a way to alleviate the situation. "So, Tsukimori-kun, how did the concert in Fukuoka-ken go?"_

_"Pretty well," he said, completely ignoring Tsuchiura-kun entirely and shifting slightly to the right. I guessed that he had just avoided another kick from the latter. "It's definitely different performing here than in Europe."_

_Tsuchiura-kun snorted. _

_"Sorry about the wait," said the waitress, putting dishes of ice cream in front of us. "Arigato gozaimasu," I said to her, and started to eat._

[end flashback]

"Dairy products just aren't the same in Japan," Tsukimori-kun commented, with a little grimace. "This shop is better than most, but..."

"I think it's tasty," I said, smiling. "Thanks for suggesting it."

He looked up at me and said softly, "One of these days I'll have to introduce you to Italian gelato. It's..."

He was cut off as Tsuchiura-kun gave such a loud slurp that even the manners of Japan frown upon. "Oh, sorry," he smirked. "You were saying?"

Tsukimori-kun set his dish aside and sat back, crossing his arms as he looked down at Tsuchiura-kun. "You know, something always mystified me about you."

Tsuchiura-kun leaned forward, with a daring look in his eye. "Oh? Do tell," he said sarcastically.

"You could easily get into a much higher level music college, you know," the sarcasm level rising to the challenge, "and yet you chose to go to a lower level, virtually unknown college, one that beginning students usually choose in order to rise to a higher one as they get better known."

Or for those who lack self-confidence to get into a better one, I thought, considering Usa. I concentrated on my ice cream, enjoying the texture of the smooth sides and the creaminess of the color.

Tsuchiura-kun asked suspiciously, "Your point being?"

"I was just wondering why. Although, now that I think of it, I don't really need to guess."

I looked up, and beheld both of them staring at me intently. The sunlight coming in from the window darkened suddenly as the growing clouds blotted out the sky, and a distant rumble of thunder sounded. No, I swear I'm not making it up for atmospheric enhancement. It really did.

"Ahaha...how's the chocolate ice cream?" I asked, trying to alleviate the situation, rather futilely.

"Want to try some of mine?" they said together. Oh, come now, there are only so many times you two can do that.

"No...no thanks..."

Awk...ward...

"It's so like you, to forgo your professional chances for sentimental reasons," said Tsukimori-kun, stirring the remains of the melted cream in the ceramic dish. "You'll never get anywhere with that sort of attitude."

"I seem to have gotten where I want to for now," said Tsuchiura-kun, looking over at me. "You do realize that you miss out on life and other things when you leave things at home, expecting that they will be just as they are when you return. Just...waiting for you. Such an arrogant attitude!"

"Doesn't seem that sticking around has had any effect so far, Tsuchiura."

I heard his jaw clench. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I think you know what I mean. After all, she has been waiting." (Author's note: In Japanese, "she" wouldn't be necessary for the sentence structure; therefore, it might better be translated as "the thing which we both know that we're talking about has been waiting.") (I hope)

Rain started to pelt the window outside, soaking the red tori gates of the shrine across the street until they turned dark brown, and misting the window from our breath.

Tsuchiura-kun set aside his dish abruptly, the small spoon clattering out and landing on the table. "Hino, I think you'd better accompany me back to the school. You'll get wet without an umbrella."

"I'll come," Tsukimori-kun said without hesitation. "You go ahead, I'll bring her behind."

"Oh, surely it's not necessary for you to travel that far out of your way, just to make sure that Hino-san doesn't get wet," Tsuchiura-kun said sarcastically. "After all, I'm sure you have very important practice at home."

Before he could reply, the waitress came up with our bill.

"I'll pay for hers," Tsuchiura-kun said, taking out his wallet.

"No, I'm the one who brought her out here, I'll take care of it," Tsukimori-kun said, reciprocating.

The waitress looked at me helplessly.

"Ano...don't worry about it," I told her, opening my coin purse. "It's not that much and..."

Two hands from opposite sides of the table stopped me from handing her the change.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" I finally exclaimed, wrenching my hands free and paying her. "You two are being absolutely ridiculous! I'd rather get wet!"

I got up and marched out, to the bemused looks of the other customers.

I'd barely made it ten paces outside when two pairs of running footsteps approached me from behind, and my sky was suddenly covered with two umbrellas. I looked up into their glaring faces.

"Fine," said Tsukimori-kun between clenched teeth, "I'll escort her part-way to the train station, you take over from there."

"Fine."

"Fine."

Tsuchiura-kun went on ahead, and the two of us followed slowly behind.

"Hino, I'm sorry."

The water was trickling down the gutters below the sidewalks.

"I lost my cool. I said unnecessary things. Please forgive me."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, Tsukimori-kun," I said, sighing, watching Tsuchiura-kun's back, angry and upright.

"Hino, I was looking forward to this so much, and I was really angry that he joined. I just wanted to talk to you, to find out how you've been doing, talk about violin, and tell you about Europe and..."

"I know," I said, softly, looking up at him at last. "I was, too. I'm sorry. It's my fault, I should have just told him that we wanted to get ice cream ourselves and..."

"...and it would have sounded rude."

Sigh. "Yes." And I would have hurt Tsuchiura-kun. For all my effort, I think I did, anyway.

The rain dribbled in steady drops off the ends of the umbrella spokes, and he looked down and smiled at me, gently.

"There will be other chances."

"I hope so."

"There must be. I need to at least have the chance to talk to you, and teach you a new piece of music, and..."

"When, is the question," I said, ruefully. "There never seems to be time."

We walked in silence for a couple of minutes, wanting to talk, having things to talk about, but recognizing that once we started in on any of those topics, we wouldn't want to stop.

"This is where I turn off at," he said, still holding the umbrella over my head as we paused on the sidewalk and looked at each other.

"Oi, Hino, hurry up," came Tsuchiura-kun's voice, rather impatiently, up ahead. "If we miss the train, I'm blaming you."

"Sorry, I couldn't bring it along this time," Tsukimori-kun said, ignoring him, finally addressing my former question. "But can you get next Saturday evening off?"

"Ano..." Next Saturday was a "Super Special Study Session at the Hanada house!", and I already knew the murderous look I would get if I skipped it (and the accompanying, well-timed baseball game). "S...sukoshi muzukashii desu ne..."

Tsukimori-kun read the hesitation in my face and said, without hesitation, "Okay, not next Saturday. And the weekend after that is booked for me, so..."

Sigh. Why, oh why?

"Three weeks from now I'm free," we suddenly said simultaneously. Then we smiled at each other, and he took a step closer, because the angle of the wind had changed, and the rain was beginning to get on my shoulders. As he did so, I had to look up at him even more, becoming aware of the couple of extra inches he'd gained on me since leaving Japan.

I missed those years in which you grew up. I wanted to experience them with you, to grow with you steadily, learning, practicing, performing, but they passed quietly, and you came back and were already this older, more mature you.

"Oi, Hino!" Tsuchiura-kun's voice was definitely pissed by now. Tsukimori-kun glared at him pointedly, and then suddenly grabbed me around the shoulders with his free arm and pulled me in for a quick hug. I don't know if the hug was more for my benefit, or to defy Tsuchiura-kun, but I didn't care.

"All right, I'll call you, okay?" he said, releasing me. I nodded, relishing the lingering traces of warmth around my shoulders, and then turned and ran off through the rain to join Tsuchiura-kun, splashing through the sudden-formed puddles, then looking back from the shelter of his umbrella, as Tsukimori-kun's figure got smaller and smaller, the mist from the rain hiding his face. He continued to stand there until we turned the corner.

"Ne, slow down a bit," I laughed, needing to run a bit to keep up with Tsuchiura-kun's long, quick strides. He didn't look down at me, and didn't slacken his pace.

"We're here," he said, suddenly, brusquely, as he snapped his umbrella closed, paying for both our tickets at the machine without asking, and hurried me through the gates. It turns out that we'd arrived a good five minutes before the train arrived anyway, and I realized that he'd done that on purpose.

The points were coming off steadily on his side as he continued to frown at the slowly filling platform, not talking to me, lost in his own thoughts. He continued in his sulky silence until we'd boarded the train, and even then he just sat there, arms crossed, staring straight ahead.

"Oi."

"What."

"What's up with you? This isn't like you, Tsuchiura-kun. Why are you suddenly angry for no good reason?"

"I have my reasons."

"Like what?"

"Him. He just...ooh..." He ducked his head down and ran his hands through his hair. "He makes me so mad! Here he just takes off for Europe, and leaving everything behind, leaving you behind, and expecting that when he gets back, you two will just take up where you left off and..." He trailed off, realizing he was saying things he didn't mean to say, and looked away.

"Tsuchiura-kun."

"And you have been waiting for him," he finished, quietly.

And then I said something from the bottom of my heart, which I regretted thereafter.

"Tsuchiura-kun, I don't care for Tsukimori-kun any more than I do for you."

I watched the sunrise dawn on his face, as his expression lifted, brightened with hope, and he stared out the window of the train, at the passing buildings, for several moments, before turning to me.

"Mamonaku..." the voice began, fading out in my conciousness, as he stared at me, wordlessly standing as the train halted, numbly exiting, together...

Why did I say it? Why did I regret it? It was true, completely true. I had to stop closing my eyes to the facts: Yes, I cared for Tsuchiura-kun, deeply, as more than a friend. Yet...I knew that I'd already made my choice, so long ago, and here I was, feeding his false hope. But watching his face, glowing as it was, how could I take back my words? I'd hurt him deeply if I did.

I couldn't do that. I just couldn't. Not yet, anyway.

.

Super Special Study Session at the Hanada house! consists of 20% aural skills training, 30% snacks and talking, and 50% baseball game. The first thing Usa did, upon our arrival at the house, was march in, plant herself on the harpsichord bench, and begin playing. Apparently she is secure enough in her abilities that such study sessions are just an excuse to come and practice. What a surprise. I almost died of a heart-attack.

Honestly, I can't see why Usa likes the harpsichord. It sounds more twangy than a shamisen. Imagine like 20 shamisens all going at the same time. Bleh. Not to mention, why are the key colors reversed from a piano? It's so weird. I can't think "black keys are sharp, white keys aren't", and it confuses me.

Leaving Usa to her rubber-band symphony, and entering the living room, filled with Western-style furniture and a large, wide-screen TV, I found Tsuchiura-kun and Ichi talking together about Scottish bagpipes, the game already on, and the rest of the class conglomerated in various groups, snacking on dried squid and hopi mix, while Hanada-sensei was busy listening to the harpsichord, enthusiastically nodding her head to the rhythm and making mental notes to correct Usa on her technique later.

"The problem is that she's still using too much motion," she informed me, as I sat down, with no introduction. "I think that once she gets the hang of it, it'll change her piano playing, which will be good, because right now she's on track for DOOM."

Doom?

"But I have to say I'm impressed. To be able to sight-read Bach's Chromatic Fantasy at this tempo, she's got to be able to read music like Japanese. Hm...if only I could convert her to study Couperin...Wah! Run, run, you idiot! That's a double, don't just stop at first base! Aaaand...there it goes, you've missed your chance. Okay, Kimura! C'mon, hit it good, you can do it..."

Yes. I did just pass up an opportunity to hang out with Tsukimori-kun for this. If you can't believe it, neither can I.

"Hey, Usa," Hanada-sensei called out as the two teams switched out and Japan went to the field, "can you play that a little more piano?"

"Oh, sorry," yelled back the voice from the harpsichord, "I didn't realize I was playing it so fortissimo."

The looks exchanged around the room were what could be considered "perplexed." Needless to say, the volume of the harpsichord did not diminish in the slightest.

Hanada-sensei started laughing. "Sorry, I love that joke. Anyway, so! Who can tell me how to remember what a perfect 5th is?"

"Star Wars theme," answered Ichi, grinning. Eh? I think I've seen that once. It's an American sci-fi show, right? With someone called "Captain Kirk" and "Spock"? Goofy names.

"Yup! And a minor 6th?"

"Brahm's Waltz in A flat," said Tsuchiura-kun, "and a perfect 4th is from 'Here Comes the Bride'." He smiled over at me.

Meh. I wish that they'd use examples that I actually knew. "Hanada-sensei? Why can't we use traditional Japanese songs instead?"

"Ooh...good question, Kahoko! You remember what pentatonic is, right?"

"The scale you get from just playing the black keys on a piano?"

"Yup! Well, ancient eastern music only uses pentatonic, so we can't use that kind of music for our interval examples. You'd be missing all the intervals in between. So, can you tell me how to remember a minor second?"

"Um..."

"'Jaws' theme," came everyone else's voice in unison.

"Hm," said Hanada-sensei, tapping her chin thoughtfully with her pencil. "Maybe you and I should work together, one-on-one, sometime, Kahoko. Anyway, next up, let's discuss how to find the inversion of a seventh chord..."

My brain felt like it wanted to drop out the bottom of my skull by the time Usa and I got back to our room that night. I sat down on my bed and just stared around the room blankly for a couple of minutes.

"You okay?" came Usa's voice, as she began pulling off various scores from her book shelf.

"I suck at aural skills," I muttered, downcastedly.

She shrugged. "Hey, it's not like a natural skill or something. You think everyone just automatically knows how to tell the difference between a major 7th and a tritone? I worked at it for months before entering college, that's why I don't have to think about it now. Here, look at this." She edged over to my side and showed me the Schubert violin-piano sonata we'd been working on together. "See, if you look at the beginning of the melody here, you can hum it, right? Just the first two notes."

"Easily." I hummed them carelessly.

"That's a perfect 5th."

"Seriously?" I hummed it again, more intently.

"So just think of that if you're trying to figure out if something is a perfect 5th or not. And here..."

We went over it like that for about 15 minutes, before my brain really started to dissolve.

Sighing, I reached over to my computer and turned on Muse. Deal with, Usa. Right now I need some alternative rock to relieve my feelings.

She turned her back on me and stuck her fingers in her ears pointedly. But after a couple of minutes, she emerged.

"This is totally Rachmaninoff."

"No it isn't, you twit. This is 'Butterflies and Hurricanes'."

"No way! He's totally ripping off the 2nd piano concerto, mvt. 3! Wait," she countered, listening more intently, "this is almost better. It's got drive, it's got rhythm...'I've got rhythm, I've got music, I've got my man...'"

I snorted and she stopped her random burst of song. "Whatever. Have you ever thought of men as anything other than musical rivals?"

"Once. In high school. I still do."

I cocked a disbelieving eyebrow at her. The rest of me almost believed her, just that one eyebrow didn't. "Seriously?"

"Yup. Although I still treated him as a rival."

"What happened?"

"I wasn't 'cool' enough for him." She sighed and leaned back on her bed, and for the very first time, oh bemused Reader, I got a glimpse of "Usa in love." It was vaguely scary.

"Anyway, I want this album. I'm stealing it from you now."

"Oi!" I pulled my computer away from her as she actually made a swipe for it. "It's an MP3 anyway. I'll rip it for you. Give me your player." She handed it to me, and I made the necessary illegal operations. "Enjoy."

"Thanks." She danced back over to her side and immediately got lost in "Absolution."

I smiled a little, watching her intently listening. It was about time she got out of her little classical bubble.

**Author's Notes:**

Surprise mid-week update! I actually feel terrible about leaving you all with just the last chapter, hence...Anyway, Tsukimori-kun hasn't had much of the front stage recently, but he will definitely start to make himself known soon. A lot. I'm rather happy with chapter 12 in particular (I finished it on Sunday, because I always try to stay ahead of the publications).

Aaaanyway, I don't know if I have any readers from Japan, but just wanted to let you know that I am thinking about you guys and hope that everything will begin to get better soon. Some of the images of the more devestated areas have made me cry. It's so horrible that I can't even start to say words of sympathy! Also, can anyone tell me if the aftershocks are still going on? All the news around here is in French...

Translations:

Ikimashouka: Shall we get going?

Irasshaimase: Welcome! (to a shop)

Ano: Um...


	10. Chapter 10

Movement 10: B mol

Autumn in Japan is more beautiful than anytime, anywhere else on earth. She touches the leaves with frost, and, some resisting, some giving in quickly, patches here and there flame out into color and begin to fall just as its neighbor bursts into brightness. The trees are not simply yellow or red or orange, but the whole gamut, and the persimmon trees on the mountains give forth their fruit in golden ochre. The sky is either slat-grey or clear azure, and all the birds give their most beautiful songs before they fly south for the winter.

And the knocking on the door was announcing Tsukimori-kun's arrival, which seemed the most beautiful part of late October.

I pulled myself from where I'd been gazing out the window and crossed the room, allowing myself a little giddy jiggle of excitement before opening the door.

"Hi."

"Hi."

He was immaculately dressed, as usual, in black slacks and a white button-up shirt, charcoal sports jacket and black leather bag. Yet he seemed to have a more European feel to him now; the pants and jacket were clearly linen, and the shirt was probably silk. It felt completely different from the usual Japanese synthetic fibers. I felt like hugging him to make sure that the shirt was actually silk.

"It's so good to see you," I said, "although I'm kind of sad it has to be on campus."

"Well, for now this is best. You have a lot of practice to do, and I can't take up too much of your time. Although..." He paused, a thoughtful look in his eye.

I tilted my head to the side. "Although?"

He refused to meet my eyes as we started to exit and work our way across campus. "Although I'd like to have you over to spend time with my mother," he said, so quietly that I was just barely able to make out what he said. I felt my face go warm. The walk to the practice rooms seemed suddenly very short.

"Um...anyway...ahahaha!" I tried to lighten the tension, rather unsuccessfully, as we approached the main door. "Shall we go in?"

As we walked down the corridor to a far practice room, I noticed a boy about my age, with blond hair and big brown eyes, who was playing the violin, gracefully and warmly, even through the door. On the piano next to him was a girl with black hair who played with him as though they were one instrument and one person.

"Hm? Who's that? I haven't seen him in the practice rooms before," I said, pausing for a better look. The boy and his accompanist didn't notice, and just kept playing.

Tsukimori-kun gave a backward glance, and then, startled, backtracked. "What the...why is he here?"

"Do you know him?"

"Yeah, he studied with my master in Vienna. That's Sohma Momiji, and his girlfriend Hime Michiko. I guess they're back in Japan for a visit, but I don't know what he's doing at this college. His skill level is below mine, but he's got the energy of a rabbit. Come on, let's get going," he said as he turned back around.

I gave one last glance at the boy as he stopped playing and said something to the girl with a bright, cheerful smile. He was super cute. But the guy striding down and holding the door open impatiently was far more attractive to me.

I ran down the hall to meet him.

"Tune." He played A4 on the piano for me, watching as I hurriedly pulled out my instrument. I noticed that he'd come empty-handed. Again. I refrained from mentioning "the thing he wanted to show me", but he saw my look of disappointment anyway.

"Gomen nasai," he said, and his voice sounded genuinely regretful, "not this time."

"Argh..." I let my shoulders slump as I looked down dejectedly.

"Oi, don't do that." I felt his hands push my shoulders back upright, from behind, and, startled, I pulled away, looking over. He dropped his hands back down, and I chided myself mentally for having pulled away. What excuse can I give? It was instinct. I'm not used to being touched so suddenly. I'm Japanese, after all.

"Bad posture, even when you're not actively playing, is bad for practice. Try to keep your back straight and your shoulders erect."

"Hai." I nodded vigorously, wanting to show him that I was listening. He played A4 again, and I tuned exactly.

"How's your accompanist? I hope she's not messing you up. A bad accompanist is worse than a bad instrument."

"She's fine," I said, a little thoughtlessly, "although she can be a perfectionist."

He supressed a smile. "That's...good, I think..." He sat down at the piano bench and looked up at me. "Ready?"

"Eh? What should I play?"

He shrugged. "Whatever. I just want to hear you play, really. But be warned. I have a piece I want to teach you, and I won't go easy on you then. For now, I don't want to give you anything unnecessary to think about before your final exams. Just focus on what your teacher has been telling you for now."

"Oh, by the way," I said, remembering suddenly. "Kumoyama-sensei told me to tell you to 'keep doing whatever you're doing to get that sound' or something. Um...he's a little strange," I added, a little embarassed as I saw Tsukimori-kun's eyes widen and a certain emotion pass through his face.

"My sound. It's been commented on before," he said, quietly. "Described as 'wistful', 'longing', 'hopeless'. Do you know why?"

I shook my head. "But I really want to hear you play again, Tsukimori-kun. I miss hearing you play."

"Still 'Tsukimori-kun'," he muttered, shifting his gaze to the piano keys. Then he sighed. "I wish you wouldn't call me that."

I didn't know what to say. Instead, I lifted my bow to the strings and started to play Bach's 'Air on the G String'. I noticed that he almost started up from the piano bench, but thought better of correcting me and remained seated.

After I'd finished, he looked at me and my violin with a pensive expression. "I've missed that sound," he said, finally, "although there's definitely improvement that could be done."

I felt slightly annoyed that all he could think about was my errors. "Well, I've been working hard," I said, dismissively, loosening the horsehair and putting violin and bow back in my case. "Unlike you, I haven't been playing for ages. I'm still a beginner, after all." I snapped the clasps on my case shut, one by one, but as I went for the last one, I felt his hand come between me and the clasp.

I froze, looking at my hand, his hand, and the violin case, and then I heard his voice, soft and intense: "Don't stop."

I swallowed hard. I couldn't look at him, but I said, whispered, actually, "Okay," and took my violin out of the case again.

It wasn't long after the next piece that he had to leave (again) because his manager needed to talk to him (again). Regretfully, I walked him out of the practice rooms and we stood outside for a minute, watching the scarlet momiji leaves shuffling along the pavement with the wind.

"When can I see you again?" he asked.

"I don't know...school is crazy, but next weekend I should be free."

"Next weekend isn't good for me."

"Oh, for heavens' sake."

He smiled a little, brushing a lock of my hair from where the wind had blown it into my eyes. His fingertips brushed my cheek ever so slightly as he withdrew his hand. "The weekend after, the second week of November..."

"I'm free," I blurted out, rather desperately, I will admit, and blushed as I realized how loudly I'd said it.

"I am too." He paused significantly. "And my mother will be at home."

I didn't answer, unable to think about anything but the implications of Tsukimori-kun wanting me to meet Misa-san. Get to know her, actually, because I'd already met her before...

"I'll be there," I said, quickly.

"I'll be waiting," he answered. "Well...ja matta ne."

As he walked away, I could still feel my heart pounding. It had been going like crazy ever since he'd touched my cheek.

Accident? On purpose? What did he mean exactly by wanting me to meet his mom? Did he view me purely on a musical level, as a fellow violinist that he liked to hear, or did he mean anything more? I thought he seemed eager to see me again, but was I just reading too much into things because I wanted him to want to see me again?

Argh...it's so hard to tell! And here I was, acting desperate and everything, and I know he can sense how much I want to be with him...but...should I try to act a little less interested? Act all coy, so that if he wanted to chase me, he would? But if he didn't, he'd probably draw away, coldly, and maybe even end our friendship. I didn't want that to happen, even if the world ended tomorrow. But if I continued to act desperate, maybe he'd pull away anyway...Oh, what to do!

And in the meantime, there were still two more weeks until I could see him again. Let's hope they don't pass as slowly as the last time.

.

"Ne, Kahoko, wait up!"

I turned back, from where I was exiting the theory class, accompanied by Hanada-sensei's screeches to practice aural skills, and looked over at Ichi, his grin as standard as his headphones. He caught up to me.

"What's up with her?" he asked, thumbing backwards as the waif that was Usa stalked by without a backward glance.

"We've lost her, Ichi. Lost her to Eddie Murphy."

"The American comedian?"

"No, I mean Queen."

"Ah. Freddie Mercury, you mean."

"I got her started on Muse, and then she went on to the Scorpions, and now she won't stop. She can't believe that there's a genre of music out there that she never even knew about."

"Huh? How could she not know about classic rock?"

"Beats me."

We watched her weaving her way through the squadron of students getting out of noon classes and making a beeline for the cafeteria. It cannot be denied that Usa, once she really gets into something, pours her entire self into it.

Ichi laughed out loud. He never holds back when he laughs. I wish more people were like that. "Good for her," he cheered. "At last, we have converted her to the dark side! Muahaha!"

"Eh? Dark side?"

"You know, like Darth Vader from...ah, nevermind."

How is it that everyone else is so familiar with all these Western references I don't know anything about?

"Kay, I'm going to go practice," I told him. "You coming up?"

He shook his head. "Nah, I need to go to the library to study. Ugh."

I laughed. "I know how you feel."

"Yeah, if I don't pull up my grades I'll have to repeat this class."

"Ah." I hoped my grades were high enough. "Ja matta ne!"

"Ja ne."

I entered the hall of multi-sounding doors, and looked around for a free one. Didn't seem that there were any right now. Hm...

I casually peeked into the next practice room over, and stopped short. Usa, sans headset, was sitting on the piano bench, slumped over and head hanging dejectedly. I would have been completely used to this by now, except that for once, she actually seemed in physical pain.

I pushed open the door gently. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She looked up, and I could see tears in her eyes. She grinned weakly and ironically, saying, "Tendonitis. It's a family curse."

My eyes widened. "What? That's..."

"Fatal."

We both looked up at Tsuchiura, who had entered and was leaning casually against the door frame. He walked over to Usa and pinched her forearms gently.

"Fatal. For a girl who wants be a concert pianist, this is the worst thing that could happen. Show me how you're practicing."

She sighed and straightened up, lifted her hands to the keys and began to play. I peered over her shoulder to see the title of the piece: Un Sospiro by Franz Liszt.

The notes were trickling, gently, the melody coming out from both hands, like a spinning gust of wind. I closed my eyes in pleasure. Her obsessive practicing had improved the smoothness of her phrases drastically.

"Stop it, stop it." Tsuchiura swatted her on the back, and she winced. "Feel that? All your tension is coming from your shoulders, and yet you're not using anything from your wrists up. Who taught you to play piano?"

"Me, myself, I and the evil twin inside of me."

"That explains a lot. Lesson number 1, Miss Pass-the-Piano-Proficiency-Exam-So-I-Don't-Have-To-Take-Lessons, is that all your power needs to come from your upper arms and shoulders, not your wrists, not your forearms. How many muscles are in your fingers?"

"Zero."

"So why are you trying to get all your force from them? If you play correctly, your hands will be so relaxed that you'll be able to practice for hours without feeling a thing."

"Sou ka..." She looked into the distance, unseeing, thinking about that. Then she sighed. "Muri da ne. I've already spent the last fourteen years of my life playing like this. How am I going to be able to make the change now?"

Tsuchiura tsked as he made his way to the door, turning his back on her. "With that attitude, how are you ever going to get where you want?" He closed the door, with the accompanying hiss of air that you get from closing the air-tight double-glass practice room doors, and we watched him walk back down the halls.

Ten points to you, for the advice to my roomie, and five more for letting me see your shoulders from this angle.

Usa was grinding her teeth. "He's right, and he makes me so mad."

I ignored her, noticing that he'd left behind his heavy theory book. As I did so, several pages of manuscript, notated for piano and violin, fell onto the floor from where they'd been trapped underneath.

I beat Usa to the floor and picked them up, paging through them. "I wanna hear this. Play it with me?" With even the small amount of aural skills that I had, I could tell that the melodic line was flowing and lush, and the accompaniment perfectly matched.

She snatched the pages away from me, flushing red. "It's no good, and besides, I don't want to play right now. It hurts too much. I'll have to take a couple of days off."

"I'll be right back. We aren't finished," I told her, hefting the book and scooting out of the practice rooms, hoping I could catch up to Tsuchiura-kun before he got too far away.

I turned out lucky; he was talking to a couple of upperclassmen out in the halls. "Hey, Tsuchiura-kun," I said, as they paused their conversation to look at me, "you left this."

He accepted the book with a quiet "Domo," and the guys he was talking to suddenly left with grins on their faces.

"Eh? Is it okay?" I asked, watching them leave. One of them winked none-too-surreptitiously at him before the door closed.

"Yeah, we weren't talking about anything important," he said, kneeling to put the book into his backpack. "But, you know, I'm glad you're here. I wanted to ask you about something."

His face took on a "serious question" look as he stood and came nearer, hands in pockets, eyes scrutinizing my face, and I think I knew what he was going to ask.

Not yet. I can't hurt you yet. Don't ask, please.

"Hino," he began, lowly, but I, searching around desperately in my mind for an excuse to put off the question, interrupted, "Hey, could you help me with something?" He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "You see," I continued, "I just discovered a violin-piano duet that Usa wrote, but she won't play it with me, her hands hurting, you know. But I really want to hear it. Play it with me?"

A smile spread slowly across his face, and he beamed down at me. "Sure."

Usa's expression was not nearly so pleased as she saw me return, Tsuchiura-kun in tow. "Oi. What are you bringing that back in for?" I noticed that she'd set the manuscript back on the piano, and snatched it up before she could take it away and hide it.

"You. Up." I said, and Usa, scowling, complied. I set the pages on the piano bench and steered Tsuchiura-kun toward the piano bench. He sat down and scanned the pages.

"O...oi! Don't look at that!" exclaimed Usa, flushing again. "It's not finished, it's full of errors..."

"You ever want to improve?" barked Tsuchiura-kun at her, blocking her frantic attempt to reclaim the manuscript. She backed off and looked away. "Yes," she admitted.

"You'll never improve at composition if you don't let other people hear your music," he said, and nodded to me. I already had my violin out. "Don't you want to know how it sounds?"

"Yes," sulkily.

"Okay. Shut up and listen."

He looked over at me, poised with my bow over the strings, and nodded. I scooted closer, to see the music over his shoulder, and we began to play as one.

The music was simple enough for me to sightread, although Tsuchiura-kun stumbled over a couple of places (to Usa's smirks of amusement), but it was still lovely. I could feel the definite influence of Brahms in the playfulness of the rhythms, the chromatic mediant modulations, and the fluidity of the melody. The piece ended abruptly; she hadn't finished it yet, and as I took down my bow and violin, I smiled at her.

"What did you think?"

She shrugged. "It sounds better than I thought it would. Ne, what did you think...Ah, he's gone already." Probably disappeared to soccer again. Her face went back and forth between satisfaction and disappointment, so that she just ended up looking smugly angry.

"Anyway, what are you up to this week? More hanging out with that violinist?"

"Well, actually on Thursday I'm hanging out with some kohai from my old high school."

"Mm? Kohai?" She snorted. "Who hangs out with people from high school? That's so, like, last year."

I tossed my head. "Believe it or not, Usa, there are people in this world who like hanging out with old friends. I happen to be one of them. Besides, you'd like them. Shimizu-kun is a cellist, and Fuuyumi-chan plays the clarinette."

I saw her ears visibly perk up. "A cellist?" she said cautiously. I nodded. Her eyes slid over to the other side of the piano, and then, without warning, she pounced on a pile of manuscript and procured a messy group of paper from it. "Ha! I knew I still had this. Ne, can I come along?"

"Eh?"

"Because. I've never had a chance to work with a cellist, face to face, before. I want to make sure that I'm not writing crazy double-stops that he can't do, or something. Please please please?"

I bit back an urge to laugh at her and nodded.

"Right then! Thursday, what time?"

.

Shimizu-kun had really grown up. I'd heard that he'd won the last two years of concours at the high school, though Fuuyumi-chan had given him a run for his money in the second one. But the constant sleeping-beauty look about him was still the same; he still carried his cello as though he thought of nothing except it; I would have been fooled, except that his other hand was holding Fuuyumi-chan's.

"Eh? You two are dating?" I exclaimed as I met them in front of the practice rooms. Fuuyumi-chan blushed, looking over at Shimizu-kun with a pleased but embarassed look on her face. "Since when?"

"Um...actually since the beginning of the year," she answered, looking down to hide her enormous smile. "Shimizu...not that one, cans are the next recepticle down."

"Sou desu ka..." Shimizu-kun looked back and forth between the three trash recepticles, and the empty can which he'd been about to throw into the "burnables". Oh, he was taller, but he was still the same Shimizu-kun, alright!

"Anyway, come on into the practice rooms, it's cold out here," I said, steering them into the hall and looking up to see if Usa had managed to appear yet. Apparently she had been frantically transcripting her original score since last night, changing the instrumentation of the viola for clarinet, and wrestling out the whys and wherefores of how to handle the fact that she'd written notes for the C string of the viola that had to fit the range of the Eb on the clarinet.

We slipped into an empty room, removing various wrappings of scarves and coats as we did so, and Fuyuumi-chan took our her clarinet and started to tune. "But really," I said, as Shimizu-kun and I started to take out our respective instruments, "I'm surprised! How did he ask you out?"

Fuyuumi-chan started to laugh. "He didn't, actually. It's just that we started spending so much time together, practically every afternoon, and one day he said, 'Fuyuumi-san, are we dating?' I said, 'What do you mean?' and he said, 'Because I heard somewhere that when two people like each other and spend all their time together, it means that they are dating. Does that mean we like each other?' I said, 'Yeah, I guess so,' and he said, 'Okay. So we're dating, then'."

I laughed at her impression of Shimizu-kun's slow, polite speech. "And the rest is history."

"Yes." Fuyuumi-chan's cheeks were a very happy shade of pink.

At that moment, my roommate burst into the room, out of breath, arms full of manuscript, frantically checking, even as she closed the door on her foot, that she still had all the pages.

"Ne, how are your hands doing?" I asked, as she started to hand out music to the three of us.

"Eh, I talked to Hanada-sensei about it yesterday. She said, 'I could have told you so', and then told me to lay off for a week or so and only practice for a couple of hours a day after that." She sighed. "What am I to do in the meantime? I feel like I have all this blank time in front of me, and I don't know what to do with it."

"You could read about music," said Shimizu-kun, not looking up from his cello. "That's what I do when I'm not practicing." Fuyuumi-chan and I exchanged amused glances.

"He's still like that, huh?" I whispered to her. She nodded. "When do you ever go out on dates?"

"Mostly we just practice together or talk about music," she explained, "but I don't mind. It's what we both love, after all."

My mind thought back to what Tsuchiura-kun had said about two musicians getting married and sharing music together.

"That's what you and Tsukimori-kun do together, isn't it?" she continued.

"Um..." I'd never thought about it before. Somehow, the thought of doing anything other than talking about music with Tsukimori-kun seemed completely out of character.

"Oi. Let's get started," said Usa, tapping the score in front of her. "This piece should be 'Allegro ma non troppo', so I want it to be lively and upbeat, but somewhat mellow. Ready?" She conducted an upbeat with her hand, and we began to play.

I miss playing in an ensemble. Playing solo is fun, and with piano is even more so, of course, but there's something about a group, all sensing the same wave-length, as it were, letting ourselves get completely absorbed in the music, that makes you forget the lonely hours in the practice rooms, and the hours in which you'd rather be hanging out with friends, because suddenly it's all worth it; you've honed your skills, like an intricate dance, to enjoy something very special with friends.

I wished I could play with an orchestra someday.

**Author's Notes:**

Eh...heheheh...yeah, British music. In Japan. I happen to be familiar with a lot of modern Japanese pop, but not very much old stuff, so I chickened out and went EU. Ah, well. This story has more cracks in it than an Easter egg in the hands of a determined five-year-old, anyway.

Incidentally, if you haven't watched "Nodame Cantabile" yet, DO IT! It's really brilliant, I love it. I recommend the Japanese TV drama over the anime, though; it's better made. "La Corda" is a lot of fun, but it doesn't have the same depth (or musical accuracy). Also, the main character (Chiaki) is very, very fine ^^

Oh! And Momiji-kun! My favorite character from Fruits Basket (my fav manga). I just had to give him a little cameo appearance. Sorry for the cross-over.

In Japan, you sort all of your garbage, and there are pickup days on certain days of the week. It was a bit of a shock for me when I lived there, because I'd just come from LA, where you throw everything away together, but I grew to prefer it, even though it's a bit more work.

Still thinking about you, Japan!


	11. Chapter 11

Movement 11: G sharp mol

He met me at the train station, umbrella in hand, amber eyes looking out under the wet fringe on his forehead, and even from the other side of the gates, my heart started to go crazy, my stomach twisting more than ever. Suddenly, the weeks of seperation were worth it.

"Yoku furimasu ne," I said, sticking my ticket into the gate and passing through.

"Sou da ne," he answered, with his slight smile. "Do you mind if we make a quick stop off on the way to the house?"

"No, of course not," I answered, as he opened the umbrella and ushered me underneath. I was starting to like rain. A lot. For one, it was much more acceptable to walk this close to him. I didn't even attempt to step back when our shoulders brushed.

"Where are we going?" I asked, as we passed into a more rural part of our home section of Tokyo, noting that it was about a kilometer off the path from where we would be going to his house of the large gates.

"My mother is arranging ikebana this afternoon," he answered, "and she asked if I'd collect some wildflowers. But I'm not sure what would be best for this season, so I think we'll just go find a field and see what's blooming."

"Find a field?" I laughed. "Here, in the middle of a city?"

He looked down at me, and the smile was even more sweet. It was opening, bit by bit, even under the droplets of rain. "Just wait and see."

Wait and see seemed to be the decriptive phrase of Tsukimori-kun's life. Wait and see me after I come back from Europe. Wait and see what I want to show you. Wait and see where we're going, physically, emotionally. Where are we going, Tsukimori-kun? The queasy misgivings of earlier came back.

"Are you all right?" he asked, as I went silent, lost in my thoughts. "I'm sorry, maybe I should've gotten the flowers before I picked you up from the station, but I was afraid that they'd wilt..."

"No, it's fine," I said, looking up. Seriously, doing anything with you right now is great. "All I hope is that your manager doesn't call like last time."

An unprecedented, mischievous look sparkled in his eyes. So cute! I wanted to kiss him on the spot. "Oh, it's too bad," he said, "but coincidentally my cell phone battery is dead."

I tsked. "Such a pity."

"So unfortunate. Look around."

I tore my gaze from him and gasped in amazement. We had arrived in an overgrown lot of land, possibly once the habitat of a house, or garden, but now completely overgrown. Late autumn grass, revived by the recent outbreak of rain, tipped greenly out of the dead remains of the long summer grass, and wildflowers, ranging from bright yellow to pale pink, large and round or small and star-like, blended with each other in a delicate menagerie, while a twisted pine tree, planted and cultivated long ago, and left to grow wild, reached out its clumpy branches over a corner of the lot.

Tsukimori-kun reached into his inner breast-pocket of the rain coat he wore, and pulled out a small, old-fashioned set of garden clippers. "Wait here on the sidewalk for a minute. I don't want you to get your legs wet in the grass."

He handed me the umbrella and went out into the gently trickling rain, his blue hair shining under the dim mid-day lights shining from the windows of the houses on either side of the lot. Carefully, he waded out, treading lightly among the pale dead grass, and, kneeling, snipped the slender stems of several kinds of flowers, including a couple of strands of thick grass. These all he wrapped gently but quickly in paper, and tucked it under his coat before coming back over to me.

"I think these will be good. Well, I've done my best."

"I'm sure Misa-san can't complain," I said, handing the umbrella back to him.

He smiled a little and then, without warning, reached up and tucked something into the coil of my upswept hair. Startled, I reached up and felt about for it, but he gently took my hand down.

"It's a late-blooming November Yamato Nadeshiko," he said. "It fits you."

I didn't know what to say.

"Shall we?" he asked, turning back down the road and looking down at me for confirmation.

We arrived at the Tsukimori house a little later, the large gates deep grey and the lights shining out cheerfully. I was glad we'd arrived, because the air had definitely taken a chillier nip the last few weeks. He opened the door for me like a gentleman, and I took off my ankle-high shoes before stepping into the living room.

Misa-san looked up from her waiting ikebana tools, and in addition to the surprise on her face, there was absolute delight.

"I told you, Mother," said Tsukimori-kun quietly, "that I would bring you the most beautiful wildflower, didn't I?"

She looked over at me and nodded. "I expected no less," she said, as he walked over to her and delivered the paper-wrapped flowers.

I understood suddenly that he wasn't referring to the arrangement, and my heart started to smile in my chest.

100 points to Tsukimori-kun.

.

The Tsukimori residence has always seemed overwhelmingly Western to me. The thick white carpet underfoot, and white leather couches neatly arranged; the tall cabinets along the walls. As Misa-san served us tea and started small-talk about school and dropping hints about Tsukimori-kun's success overseas ("_Mother_. Please." "Oh, Len, you're far too modest."), I started to feel a little out-of-place, a wildflower among elegant roses, as if I couldn't really get why he wanted me here, why talking to his mother, why...Oh, does he really like me? It seems absolutely ridiculous that he would!

Misa-san was certainly radiating hints that he did. "I'm so glad that you're back in Japan now, Len," she said, "since I'm sure your friends have been missing you. You really need to spend more time with other people your age, young ladies included. After all, there's nothing more inspirational to music than being in love. But perhaps that's not something I have to worry about."

He looked away from both of us pointedly. "I am sure that I can manage to make beautiful music without resorting to outside influences," he said. "Do we really need to talk about this again? Music is music. Life for me is about learning music better. That's all."

"Oh, really?" Misa-san winked over at me. "Oh, that's too bad, Kahoko. Looks like we'll have to talk all by ourselves. Len doesn't seem interested in talking about _girly_ things. Where did you get that cute skirt, by the way? Isn't it a bit light for this time of year? Though I have to say pink really is your color..."

"Funny, my mom always says it clashes with my hair..."

"Oh, well, colors clashing is always a matter of opinion...Incidentally, what do you think of Len since he's returned? He's so much thinner, don't you think? Better dressed, though."

"Mm..." Personally I thought he looked incredibly cute right now, his hair drying flat on his forehead and tiny beads of moisture drying on the shoulder pads of his jacket. Misa-san noticed my expression and dropped her voice conspiratorially. "He does look rather nice, doesn't he? His father was rather attractive at his age...I think it was love at first sight for me..."

"Mother. If you don't mind, I'd like to spend a little time showing Kahoko some new music," Tsukimori-kun cut in, annoyedly, though his ears had pinked up a bit.

Misa-san smiled and nodded. "Of course, Len. I understand you want to be alone for a bit. I imagine it must have been difficult, being apart the last two years. Of course you'll want to show her _that_." She tilted her head anticipatorially at him.

"That?" Oh, the thing he'd wanted to show me for awhile now. I felt excitement well up.

"That could be taken so wrongly, Mother," Tsukimori-kun said, rising without looking at me. His mother chuckled.

"You're such a teenage boy, Len. You see innuendos in everything. Better keep an eye on him, Kahoko. Guys can be guys, you know."

Eh? Somehow I have the feeling I'm widely out of the loop.

"_Mother._"

He grabbed me by the arm and marched me out of the living room, Misa-san waving cheerfully behind. He steered me into another room, wide but closed off, with a long, glossy grand piano in one corner, and shelves of sheet music along the walls. A large window invited cozy study on the cushioned window-seat.

His eyes suddenly gleamed, as he opened a cabinet and pulled out his old violin case. It looked significantly more worn than the last time I'd seen it. Of course, he'd been dragging it with him all over Europe. I would have expected him to get a new one by now.

He noticed my look, and his eyes lit up, as though he was about to tell me the X on the map where the treasure is. "That's right. I wanted to show you this."

And then he opened it up and pulled out the violin inside.

"Oi, Tsukimori-kun," I said, laughing, "you've got this beautiful instrument caged up in this old case? Isn't this the one you had back in high school? Look at it, it's practically falling apart."

He looked at me in such a way that I stopped laughing, and stroked the case as though it were the most beautiful thing on earth.

"An old instrument can't be put in a brand new case. Plus, I owe so much to this case. I can't get rid of it now." He smiled a little absentmindedly.

That smile was adorable.

I sucked in my breath sharply as I gazed at the instrument. The light glistened off its worn varnished wood, as though the instrument was giving off its own glow. I knew without even looking inside at the label, what it was.

"A Guaneri..."

Tsukimori-kun had a peculiar gleam in his eyes as his thumb caressed the fingerboard. "I have it on loan from an Academy of arts and science. However, I've been thinking about changing to a Strad, if I can get the sponsorship. A Guarneri isn't straight enough for me. The timbre has more in it than I'm putting in it. It's too warm; I'd prefer something with a clearer sound."

I recalled what Hanada-sensei had said and smiled. From her description, a Stradivari would suit someone like him better.

"Can I play it just a little?" I asked, holding out my hands.

He retracted it as though I'd suggested burning it. "Are you crazy? Do you have any idea what the owner would do to me if something happened to it?"

I stuck out my lip, a little hurt. "I'm not going to drop it, you know. Since when have I ever damaged a violin?"

"You've broken three strings at once, if you will recall."

Clean hit. "Well, at least let me hear it," I said, yielding.

He lifted it, cradling it between the side of his jaw and shoulder as he tautened the horse-hair on his bow and tuned it, and then...

The sound spun out, gently, warmly, more warm than the Tsukimori-kun I knew, anyway. It must have been the violin's sound, and yet the perfection of the notes was his. The flawless technique was his doing, the work of his long, slender, pale fingers. Only the voice that was singing seemed slightly off. And yet...there was emotion there that was definitely his. The sound of two years of exhausting work, and of countries I had never seen, and longing, indefinable longing, not yet fulfilled.

I sat and listened to him, astounded, as he played the Massanet "Meditation from Thais", me on the window seat, and when he finished, I just stared, silent, still listening to the echoes in my memory. Outside, the rain applauded with its tiny hands.

Tsukimori-kun smiled and came over to sit next to me, on the plump blue cushions, still cradling the priceless violin in his left hand and lap. "Well, what did you think?"

"I...I...jaaa..." There were really no words to describe the way a violin like that sounded, here, live, the sole audience of a heart-felt solo. I let the silence hang for a minute, cherishing the memory, until I suddenly became aware of a ticking in the background. I had the irreverant desire to shout "Bomb!" and throw Tsukimori-kun to the ground, covering him sacrificially with my body, but decided that it was probably improper.

"What's that ticking?" I asked, instead. "It's too loud to be a clock..."

"It's a grandfather clock," he said, looking in the direction of the sound. "My parents imported it from England. It's huge. Want to see it?"

"Thanks but..." I stopped suddenly as I felt a warm pressure on my hand. Looking down, I saw that Tsukimori-kun, starting to get up, had accidentally put his hand over mine.

I looked up. His mouth, which was formed ready to apologize, froze as our eyes met, and he did not remove his hand as he sat back down.

Words seemed perfectly obtuse at the moment. We both sat there, staring at each other, though I noticed his eyes flickering down from my eyes to my mouth, and back, with the warm connection of bare fingertips, mine and his.

I wanted the moment to continue forever. All the uncertainty, the "does he like me or not?" seemed to dissolve in that touch, even as we unconciously started to lean towards each other.

"Ne, Len? Lunch is ready...Oh." We looked up, startledly jerking our hands away, at Misa-san, entering the room in her usual gracious manner. She turned to go. "Take your time, it's just miso soup and oyako domburi; it'll stay warm."

"No, it's fine," we both said, springing to our feet. "I'm actually hungry," I added, convincingly, as Tsukimori-kun hurried over to put his Guaneri back into the case.

"Well, if that's the case then..." Misa-san smiled and waited for us to preceed her out of the room.

I like Misa-san. But that was just bad timing.

.

"Anyway, when will juries be over?" Tsukimori-kun asked as he escorted me back to the train station. The rain had stopped, leaving cool, misty air behind, and high streetlamp glow that stretched in long reflections on the pavement. "I don't want to disturb you until they're over..."

I shook my head. "Daijoubu desu, I'd rather see you, and my practice will be fine. I've got the Bach down pretty well..."

"Pretty well isn't good enough. You should practice more, so that you can easily play the piece without worrying about messing up. Only when you're 100% secure can you start to make music."

There he goes again. I guess I shouldn't be surprised by now.

"But, Tsukimori-kun, I have all the time in the world to practice, but I never know when you're going back to Europe. I want to use all the time I have with you..."

He looked away, and I scooted around to catch his gaze. "You're going away again, soon, aren't you," I cried in disappointment. "Why do you always do this? You just leave, and don't tell me, don't give me a reason or..."

"It's not like that," he said suddenly, stepping forward and taking my hand in both of his. I caught my breath. The warm connection was back; it shut out the cool after-rain air completely.

"Then what is it?" I asked quietly, meeting his tortured gaze. He closed his eyes, squeezing my hand gently before releasing it. "When are you leaving? How long?" I continued, starting to get angry. "Just tell me, get it over with; but I'll warn you that I'm not letting you go away for as long as last time. I'll come over to Europe and get you myself."

He laughed, then, softly, and smiled at me tenderly. "Like I said, it's not like that," he began. "But I can't tell you just yet; get through juries first, and afterwards we'll talk."

My curiousity was completely piqued. "Eh? Oi, that's not fair, tell me!"

He shook his head, still smiling. "It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises."

"Maybe this will change your mind."

I sighed. "Okay, can we meet the day after juries, then?" The wind started up in a rush, blowing my gauzy pink scarf over my shoulders.

He nodded, reaching out to take the ends of the scarf and securely tie them under my chin. "I'll be looking forward to it, Kahoko."

My heart turned a little somersault and landed on the ground in the puddles at our feet.

.

In my efforts to make Tsukimori-kun proud, I threw myself into practicing the next few days. Even Usa commented on my sudden improvement, when we practiced together, although she'd been spending as much time listening to the new music I was introducing her to as practicing, nowadays. Tsuchiura-kun, who noticed her listening to the player intently as we ate together in the cafeteria (I suspect Usa wouldn't have joined us if she hadn't been pretending not to notice Tsuchiura-kun's existence), was as yet unaquainted with the content of said MP3s.

"You'll get behind me in piano if you keep that up, you know," he said, aside, through his onigiri and curry. She continued as she was.

"She's not listening to you," I told him unnecessarily, looking back and forth from where I was seated, sandwiched between the two of them at the plastic-masquerading-as-wood table.

"Yeah, well that's her problem, isn't it? She's built up this little wall between what's good and what's not." He sighed. "That girl has a ton of growing up to do."

"Oh, Tsuchiura-kun, give her a break."

"If she'd admit that someone else besides her and the 'Three B's' was actually decent, I'd be willing to lend her a little more leeway."

"You know she admires your playing, right?"

I noticed her stiffen, and guessed that she could hear more than she was pretending to.

"No." He got a mischievous look on his face. "Really, Usa? You like my playing, huh?"

She gave up pretending and shot him a glare. "What of it? Your technique is good, your expression is nice, especially when you're playing with her," she nodded over at me, "and I'm not going to withhold credit where credit is due."

"Ne, what are you listening to right now, huh? Beethoven's piano sonatas?"

Tsuchiura-kun leaned across me and pulled one of her earbuds out of her ear, sticking it in his own.

"Oi. 'Stairway to Heaven", huh? Never would have guessed."

Usa snatched away her earbud and quickly reinserted it into her ear. "Shut up a minute. This is the guitar cadenza."

Tsuchiura-kun gave Usa an amused eyebrow. That is to say, he lifted it quirkily. I don't mean that he pulled it off with duct tape and folded it neatly and handed it to her, although admittedly, watching him go around with one eyebrow for awhile would be amusing.

"Classic rock, huh?" he said. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"What of it? This is great music. I never could have guessed that popular music could be so intelligent. Listen to the melodic contours of this solo! It's as if the guitarist mastered counterpoint, and then turned it upside down."

Tsuchiura-kun waited patiently until she got the satisfied expression on her face that let him know the song was finished, and then he leaned over, pulled out both her earbuds, and looked her in the eye.

"Well, now you know why 'commoners' like this kind of music," he said, seriously. "So come on back to classical music, Usa, and understand music a little better. You've spent too long in this bubble, saying that the only serious music is classical, and forgetting what made music fun to listen to in the first place."

Usa's eyes started to fuzz over in that way that let me know she was thinking deeply, and, realizing it would be a bit before she came back to earth, I tugged on Tsuchiura-kun's arm.

"C'mon, let's leave her alone for a bit."

.

Oh, boy. I could sense it from outside the door. I paused, and then turned the handle. I couldn't camp outside forever. May as well go in and face the music.

"What's wrong this time?"

Usa was sitting on the bed and busily consuming an entire bag of potato chips, while watching an anime on her laptop, cradled between her crossed legs.

"Don't want to play. Pianos are of the devil."

"Eh? You've been going at it like crazy since spring. How come you've suddenly decided that pianos are of the devil?"

"So friggin' tired...of day after day of those exercises...and practically no progress...and I bet Tsuchiura could just look at a piano and make it play perfectly by the refracted light of his eyes."

"I know I've never ever told you this before, but you are absolutely ridiculous. Every time I go into the practice rooms, there are about three people outside listening to you play. You've gotten so much better, in such a short time, it gives me chills."

She threw the empty bag at me. It swooped up lazily and floated down in the middle of the room. "Flatterer."

"Am not. Next time you're practicing, peek out the window. The little shadows that scurry away? Those are the very jealous students I'm talking about."

She contemplated me for a minute. "You know," she said presently, "Tsuchiura seems kind of out of it ever since your boy toy returned from Europe. I think he's languishing. I hate the guy, but have some pity."

I blushed over the term "boy toy", but I gave her what had become a very common look between the two of us: disgust. "Tsuchiura-kun has always, and will always be, just a friend. Don't be annoying like that."

"You didn't seem just like friends after the Grieg violin sonata you did together back whenever ago, nor when you played my violin-piano duet just yesterday."

"Gecko." Score for me.

"Amoeba." Crap.

"When did I get downgraded all the way to amoeba?"

"When you told Tsuchiura that I admired his piano."

"What, you do."

"You didn't need to tell him that."

"You must like him."

"If you say that again, I will unstring your violin and steal the pegs."

"Whatever. If you feel so bad for the guy, why don't you go out with him?" A sudden inspiration, possibly sprung out of guilt, but also for my natural propensity for matchmaking, hit my mind. "You guys would be perfect for each other. Just like the stories, you know. The two that are always fighting suddenly fall madly in love with each other, but won't admit it until fate steps in..." I realized that I was suddenly posing in "folded hands dreamily under chin" mode when I saw the look she was giving me, as though she'd just caught me picking my nose and eating the boogers.

"Never, ever, ever ever ever ever suggest such an atrocious idea again," she said scathingly. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard. If you ever do, I will eat every last one of those hideous pink pillows."

"Now that's the most disgusting thing _I've_ ever heard."

"You're living in your little fairy world, you know. Assuming that the two 'characters' who hate each other must end up together. Or maybe you just want to pair him up with someone because otherwise he'll go around pining over you for the rest of his life."

She'd hit it right on the mark. She didn't have tact, but she had plenty of insight. "You're totally wrong, and you know it."

"Oh, sweetie, you're so cute it's hard to be angry at you," she said ingratiatingly, not even looking at me as she turned back to her show. I tentatively crossed over and tried to peer over her shoulder.

"What are you watching?"

"Nodame Cantabile. Wanna join?"

"No thanks, I'm not into anime."

"Anyway, you need to tell him," she said to the pair of drumsticks she'd picked up and was twirling around her fingers.

"Tell him what?"

"That you don't like him."

"I do like him."

"I thought you just said you didn't."

"I meant in the...Oh, for pity's sake, Usa, you know what I mean."

"It's not fair to him, and you know it."

"It can wait a little longer. I don't want to hurt him just yet."

"Ka. Ho. Ko."

I sighed and opened my cellphone and speed dialed.

"What's up, Hino?"

"Tsuchiura-kun...I...can we talk sometime?"

"Sure thing. When?"

I thought for a moment. Toad for breakfast, Kahoko.

"Is tonight okay?"

"Yeah. Practice rooms?"

Where else? "That's good."

"Okay, I'll see you then. Looking forward to it."

I hung up, feeling like a slimy something that couldn't be named. Usa applauded.

"Good for you."

I hid under my fluffy pink pillows and tried not to cry.

**Author's Notes:**

Yamato Nadeshiko is a type of wildflower, I don't know the English name. It's also a reference to the Japanese "ideal" of womanhood, which is why Kahoko feels so complimented that Tsukimori-kun calls her that.

This has nothing to do with anything, but I recommend listening to music by the 20th century composer Kabalevsky. It's unique, not as "out there" as Stravinsky or Shostokovitch, but more daring than Debussy or Brahms. I'm currently addicted to his second piano concerto.

Oh, and sweet, gentle reviewers who have mentioned the Tsuchiura-Usa pairing...please don't take offence. I had already planned out the irony of Kahoko mentioning this and Usa being revolted long before anyone said anything. I'm not being pointed or anything. Usa kind of has her own thing going on, and I don't think she and Tsuchiura are very good for each other. Friendship or at least mutual respect is a possibility.

Translations:

(from last week): Muri da ne: It's impossible, isn't it?

Sou ka: Is that so?

Domo: Thanks

(from this week): Yoku furimasu ne?: It's really coming down, isn't it?

Daijoubu desu: I'm fine, it's fine


	12. Chapter 12

Movement 12: B flat mol

"Hey, Hino. You look great today. What's up?"

You look great, too, with the top button of your shirt undone, and that fantastic smile that says, "I've been waiting here for the last half-hour, and I'd wait longer, just for you." And now I have to kill that smile. Smile murder. Hangman, here I come.

"Weeeell, you know, I just wanted to talk and..."

Tsuchiura-kun's smile remained, and he gestured at the piano bench that he was already occupying. "Have a seat."

"Thanks." You've got the wrong idea entirely. Kuso, kuso, kuso...

"I'm glad, because, you know, I needed to talk to you too." Plane going down! Nosedive! "About the future."

"The future? After college, you mean? Have you decided what you're going to do with piano? Are you going to try to become a concert pianist?"

"Hm.. I haven't decided. It's difficult to get a steady income from that sort of business, you know, unless you're really good. Actually, I've been considering going on to a grad degree, maybe teaching at the university level."

"Really? But why not pursue a concert career? Surely you can overcome difficulties of finances, right?"

"By myself, yes. But there is one thing I'm sure of, despite uncertainties of what career choices."

He played a chord on the piano with one hand, arpessiating it lightly, and he swallowed, as if readying himself for what he wanted to say next. I should have said something at this point, but some horrible part of me wanted to hear him say it.

"I don't want to face the future by myself," he said, quietly. "Not because I'm afraid of being alone, but because I want someone special with me, to look forward to each day with, and work through problems with, and play music with. Don't you?"

Pregnant pause. I hate that phrase. It's worse than "awkward silence".

"I'm leaving a little early, for a soccer tournament overseas. I'll be really busy with studying for exams, since I have to take them the week early."

Relief washed over me as he changed the subject suddenly. That phrase always left me wanting a towel. I mean, if something is washing over you, it's usually liquid, so you'd need something to dry off with, and...Wrong time to start monologing, Kahoko! Think of the moment! 

"So you won't be able to help me with piano stuff."

"No, I won't." He paused, one hand absentmindedly caressing the top of the key cover. "And I need your answer on something before I go. Because I just can't wait all that time for your response."

His next question, the one I'd been dreading all this time, ended up not needing any words afterall.

He leaned forward suddenly and kissed me on the lips. Stunned, I allowed myself to kiss him back, leaning into his strong warmth, as my mind went strangely blank with bliss.

Breaking the kiss, he sat back and studied me, and there was more than a smile on his face. His face was breaking out like a sunburst, and it was all my fault.

"How did that make you feel?"

Elated. Shit. I know Tsukimori-kun is worth it, but this hurts worse than anything.

"Kahoko." He leaned forward again and took my face in both of his large hands. They enclosed the outline of my cheeks entirely. Longing was written in his eyes.

"Tsuchiura-kun...Oh, kami, don't do this to me, don't call me that, don't look at me like that!" In panic, I shoved him off the piano bench and retreated, starting to cry.

He looked up at me, surprised, from the floor, and a hard look started to creep over his features.

He knows already, but I still have to say it.

"I can't go out with you, Tsuchiura-kun."

The smile was gone. I'd already done the deadly duty.

"I'm so sorry, oh, Tsuchiura-kun, I just..."

His jaw tightened. He has a very firm jawline.

"I see," was all he said. "Tsukimori, ne."

"Yes."

"All I worry about is that he won't be there to catch you when you fall."

Still corny. But I'm not going to say it.

In order to seem a little more lighthearted, I made the most ridiculous suggestion I'd ever made (again).

"Hey, you could try going out with Usa, you know. She's smart, and pretty if you look at her in a particular light and..."

He sent me a look that said "murder with long knives", and stalked me against the wall, where he placed both hands on either side and got his face so close to me I thought he might kiss me again. "That I will never forgive you for, Hino." Then he smiled, though it was already dead, poked me in the forehead and straightened up.

"Well, it's not over until the fat lady sings, or so they say," he said lightly, and waved his hand as he turned away on the bench. "I'm not giving up yet, Hino Kahoko."

The sight of his strong shoulders, etched as they were with pain and disappointment, hit me in the face like a hot frying pan, and I got off the piano bench, out of the room, and ran.

I ran along that familiar path, that Tsuchiura-kun had carried me along last July, now cold and frosty from the first bitterness of winter. There were few students out now; most were holed up, probably under smuggled-in kotatsu, studying like crazy for pre-vacation exams. Yet, through the darkening evening, I could hear the sound of a fiddle. There was only one person on campus who could make a violin sound that alive.

I slowed to a halt, realizing that I was in front of that same music shrine, and a carefree, hooded form was playing a stathsprey for it, as though he actually thought the diety enjoyed it.

"Ichi." He looked up in surprise, taking down his violin as he did so, still holding it by the neck.

"Hey, Kahoko. How are you doing?" His natural grin faded as he noted my fallen expression. "You okay?"

I sighed deeply and didn't answer. I didn't need to.

He thought for a minute, and then said, "You know, every time I meet you, the music seems to take on a new meaning. I see you happy, and a jig pops out. I see you thoughtful, and I want to play a waltz. I'm glad that you have that effect on me, because I learn how to play better for other people, too. It just so happens, I think, that you wear the emotions that everyone else is feeling, clearly on your face. I like it. So listen, please, and I'll try to play your feelings."

I didn't quite understand what he was talking about, but he was dead sincere. He lifted the bow, and played a slow, sad song, which changed to a smooth, pensive major halfway through. He played it again, minor to major, like that, and when he'd finished, he let down his violin from his shoulder with a sigh.

I did feel better, after all. "What was the name of that song?"

"Tösvalsen."

"Will you teach it to me sometime, please?"

He smiled at me. "Of course."

.

"Got another wedgie?" was the sympathetic response I got from Usa as I curled up amid the pillows on my bed and tried not to cry.

"Usa, be human. Can't you see I'm in the depths of despair?"

"Tsukimori again?"

"No."

"Tsuchiura, then. Ah, I see. You actually managed to tell him, ne?"

I sighed deeply, letting all the tension from down to my toes to the top of my head escape in a hiss of air. She gave me a disgusted look. "He's not worth your tears, honey. Cry over Tsukimori, if you will, but Tsuchiura is just..."

"Just another hunky chunk of masculine wonderfulness that I have to forgo for someone else."

"Just an annoying know-it-all who doesn't have the decency to admit that I'm his rival."

"Oh, Usa, I didn't know you loved me that much. Sorry, but I'm straight and my heart's already taken." I just slaughtered half of it on the altar of constancy.

"Shut up, you iguana."

"Huh?"

"I've upgraded you again."

"Oh, thanks."

"I meant in class." She sighed. "He just doesn't like to admit that a girl could actually best him at something." I smothered a smile.

"Got a 99% on the pop quiz this morning, huh?"

"Hmph. That question about the format of a double-fugue wasn't fair. There were two answers. Tsuchiura just guessed right, that's all."

"Has it ever entered your brain that maybe you aren't perfect, and maybe Tsuchiura-kun is smarter than you think?"

She rolled her eyes and put in her earbuds, lying back on the bed and leaving me alone to my thoughts.

Thought 1: I can't wait until the semester is over. College is busy and boring, and I want to see Tsukimori-kun like crazy.

Thought 2: I just hope he actually likes me. It would suck if I'd just hurt Tsuchiura-kun and found out that I done it meaninglessly.

Thought 3: ...Do I actually think of Tsuchiura-kun as a "second option"?

Ouch. I do.

No, I don't. He's of his own kind, and I know it. I like him, yes, more than a friend, but it's completely different. Tsuchiura-kun has been my closest friend since high school: I depend on him for all sorts of things: I feel safe and comfortable around him: We can talk about anything together: We often do. If it had just been him, and we'd been like this, there is no doubt that we would be together. This evening, I would have gone down, and he would have kissed me, like that, and my answer would have been yes.

It's extraordinary, this feeling of remorse. It shouldn't be this way. Why is it this way?

What is it about Tsukimori-kun that ties my heart strings in knots, tugging me after him, occupying my thoughts constantly, making me want to be with him, so badly that it hurts, and my chest feels tight, like it will either explode or implode?

I'm in love. And it's a mysterious thing.

"What's up with you, you salamander you?" God, she's persistent. Usa, you're seriously the most annoying thing on the planet. Here I'm trying to dialogue with myself about "deep thoughts", and you bring me back to earth, to this tiny, dingy dorm room I can't wait to escape from, and call me yet another cold-blooded critter name.

I played along anyway. "What?"

"A fishy-feeling cold-blooded amphibian that..."

"I know what a salamander is. Why are you labeling me as such?"

She snorted with laughter. "'As such'. That's totally going into my quotation book. I thought you were supposed to be sweet and dumb, Hino Kahoko. You're wrecking my carefully sketched mental image. Ack! My world-view is coming to a Derridian end!" She keeled over on her bed dramatically.

I ignored her and went back to moping. She pouted but left me alone.

The truth was, I was tired of Japan. I will admit it. I was tired of this never-ending loop of life, of constantly seeing the same places all the time, doing the same things day after day. What Tsukimori-kun had mentioned, months ago, had been piquing my curiousity ever since. The rest of the world is huge, Hino. Wait til you see what it's like.

I want to see what it's like. I want to explore, get out of my bubble, see tall white people, eat new food, see a different ocean, experience a history that hasn't affected me at all, here on this static island of 2000 years of cultured, dignified life.

I want to go out there with Tsukimori-kun, and see it all. Will I ever be good enough at music to stand on a stage in a different land?

Then I started to feel depressed, because the truth was, short of a miracle, I never would. Tsukimori-kun would always be an image in a far land that I had no access to, and struggle as I might, I couldn't reach him. I just couldn't. I'd never be good enough. Try as hard as I might, I just didn't have the talent and experience to get there.

I'm sorry. I broke our promise.

Despair dropped into my stomach as though I'd swallowed a brick, and I curled up on my bed, facing the wall so Usa couldn't see, and let little tears well up in the slit of my almost-closed eyes.

I can't take it...unable to catch up to you, unwilling to stop trying, and I'm getting nowhere, feeling sorry for myself! But...oh, what am I to do? Move on past music? Keep going with it?

What do you want me to do, Tsukimori-kun?

"Yike!" I glanced around suddenly as Usa winced and pulled her headphones away from her head.

"What's wrong?" (little sniff to keep my nose from running visibly).

"The coloratura hit a major seventh on the dominant with the borrowed chord of a sharp major mediant chord in the pizzicato strings!"

"Oh, that bad," I nodded gravely. She looked closer, regarding me with seriousness.

"Ne, you okay?"

"I'm fine." I turned my back on her again and faced the wall.

Pad, pad, pad, like the paws of a lion. Shit, she's standing right behind me. Then,

THWACK!

"Ow, what was that for?" I howled, holding my smarting head and squinting around at her in pain. "That hurt, you know!"

"You. I know exactly what you're thinking, and I won't stand for it," she scolded, setting down the heavy book she'd used. "You're thinking, 'Why am I doing music? I'm too far behind, I'll never be able to catch up. I should just quit'."

Sometimes I hate you. "No, I wasn't." I turned away coldly.

"Yes, you were. I've hunched up my own shoulders far too many times to be fooled." She stood up straight, dark eyes flashing, fists curled at her sides, and shouted, "Well? How are you supposed to get better if you don't try? What's left if you stop?"

"What am I even supposed to work towards?" I shouted back, getting off my bed and facing her angrily. "Where am I going? What's the use of trying? Am I really supposed to fool myself into thinking I can get up on a stage? It's useless..." I backed away and slumped down on my bed, elbows on knees, head drooped dejectedly. "I can't do it, but I have nothing else to do. I abandoned my other opportunities to pursue music whole-heartedly, and I can't go back."

"But I'm so far behind, and everyone else has been training since they were infants, and they have experience and teachers and all that, while I'm starting from scratch, and it just seems useless," Usa finished, dropping to her knees, kneeling in front of me, but not looking at me.

The music world isn't fair. It blesses the fortunate few who have been born into just the right circumstances, and shuts the door coldly on those of us who enter later. I closed my eyes and felt the long-suffering tears drop down the sides of my face.

There was silence, there in the room I couldn't wait to escape. I regarded it narrowly, at the tiny window that opened to a courtyard of cement and bare-branched trees, at the desk cluttered with books I didn't feel like touching, at the clothing spilling out the sides of my drawers.

This is what it had come down to, then. I wasn't even at the end of my first semester of music college, and I just wanted it to end. I'd worked this hard to come here, and the hopelessness of the situation was overwhelming. Even those who learn music from their earliest steps end up struggling to make a music career work, like Tsuchiura-kun, so what use was there in someone like me, or even someone as smart as Usa, making it into such a ridiculously competitive workforce?

"But it's too late to turn back," came Usa's voice on the floor, where she'd leaned over and curled up like a cat at my feet.

"Too late..." I repeated drearily.

"We'll never know if we can go all the way if we stop in the middle of the road. We can't prove to ourselves that we can't make it if we stop."

"So we press on."

"On down the road."

"To find out where the end leads us."

I leaned over and stroked the top of Usa's head, smiling and feeling my sticky cheeks crinkle. She nuzzled her head into the side of my hand and started to purr.

"You're silly, you know that."

"What, you pet me, I purr. Going all the way. Isn't that what we were just talking about?"

I laughed in spite of myself. "You always go all the way," I told her.

"Your turn," she said softly, and, reaching under the bed, pulled out my recently neglected phone, handing it to me.

I paused as I took it and stared at it. I knew what she meant, but I was unwilling to do it.

"Usa..." I began, but she had already crept over to her side of the room and was pointedly listening to more music, leaving me to fate.

Fate. What have you got in store for me?

I picked up the phone and called. It rang twice, and then he picked it up, as though he'd been waiting for my call.

"Kahoko."

Oh, don't ever stop calling me that. At the same time, I felt a pang as I recalled the look in Tsuchiura-kun's eyes after he'd kissed me and called me the same thing.

"Tsukimori-kun..."

An impatient sigh. "What is it? It's late. Surely you know the time right now?" he asked sarcastically. "This close to juries, shouldn't you be practicing, or getting your rest?"

I couldn't concentrate right now if I wanted to. Between you and Tsuchiura-kun, my mind is whirling. "I've been working hard," I told him, "but I wish I could meet with you, so that you could help me. It's hard going on my own."

"Going on your own? What are you talking about? What about your teacher?"

"Asking Kumoyama-sensei questions...it's...hard..."

"Don't tell me you offended him."

"No, but..." But it's difficult, when I get such a sharp answer to everything. I'm afraid to ask, because I feel like he'll scoff and tell me I'm stupid.

"Listen. Right now, it's very important that I not interrupt his teaching. Because there are so many schools of practice when it comes to the violin, I might contradict something he's said, and that would confuse you. It's important that that doesn't happen right now. But I'm glad you called."

What?

Did he really? I felt hope well up, and I blurted out the next thing that came to mind.

"I...just wanted to talk to you, really." About? "About the future."

Great, now I feel guiltier than ever.

Silence on the other end. "About us," I clarified, swallowing hard. It felt ridiculous, me saying such things, being the girl and all, but I couldn't wait! Was he going to take forever to ask me, did he even think about "us"?

Ragged, forceful breathing, as though he were fighting something down. "Right now isn't the time to talk about this. You need to stay focused..."

"But I can't focus!" I cried out. "I like you, Tsukimori-kun, I like you, and thinking about you makes me wonder...all sorts of things...and my head is so dizzy, and I can't think about violin because I want to know what YOU think about me and..."

And I just blurted out everything without even thinking. I glanced up over at the Usa end, but she was tactful enough not to say anything or make any recognition that she had heard what I said.

Tsukimori-kun gasped aloud, and then was silent. I swallowed as I listened to the sound of his lips parting and slight intake of air, as if he were going to say something, then thinking better of it, struggling with what he wanted to respond.

Then his end went dead.

I listened in shock as the slow, intensely loud beeping filled my ears, not believing that he'd actually hung up, he'd actually hung up...

I gritted my teeth, snapping the little phone shut and, with a dry sob, flung it across the room before burying myself in my pillows and beginning to cry viciously, ignoring the indignant "Itai!" that came from Usa's side of the room.

It was so horrible...I'd come clean and said it, I'd burned the bridges, and now I looked blankly back from the other side, on the muddy bank, at the "what might have been"s if I had JUST been more patient, if I'd JUST given him more time...and it was over now, all over...

He'd never want to see me again.

Ave Maria sang electronically from the other side of the room, and I ignored it, still crying, even as Usa picked up the phone gingerly and put it in front of me. I shook my head, flopping away and staring at the wall again. She sighed and flipped it open.

"Hello?" I wanted to strangle her. "Yes, she's right here." No way. I don't want to hear anyone right now. Leave me alone.

"Oi, take it. Take it!" she said at me angrily. Finally, she thrust the phone on my exposed ear and held it there.

His voice came through the receiver.

"Kahoko? I'm sorry, I couldn't think of what to say..." Tsukimori-kun. Just say it. Get it over with. Tell me it's useless, that you're sorry I feel this way, but you can't reciprocate because music is too important, and...

"Listen, please. Just listen." I don't really have any choice. Usa's got the phone clamped over my ear with a death-vice.

I heard the phone clattering slightly as he set it on top of a piano lid (I assume), and then came the singing voice of the Guaneri.

It wasn't a sad song, an angry song, or even an uncertain song, but it was mellow, and full of emotion. The unusual modality of what I had come to recognize as Impressionist music came through, melodically singing of... sweet affection, deep, undeniable...

I smiled through my tears and wrestled the phone out of Usa's grasp, uncaring as she went back over to her side.

"Did you hear it all right?" his voice came back, after a slight pause.

I nodded. "What was it?"

"Debussy's 'Beau Soir'. It's originally meant for voice, but violin works well, too. Kahoko," and his voice lowered, broadened, full of meaning, "did you understand?"

Now I didn't know what to say.

"When I see you again, maybe I'll have the words I'm looking for. Until then, work hard. I want to be proud of your results."

"Yes," I managed to get out, still lost for words.

"Okay. I can't wait to see you again."

"Yes."

"Bye."

"Bye."

I dazzedly shut the abused cell phone and laid it down on the bed, rolling over to look up blankly. Tsukimori-kun...

"What did he say?" My roommate's curiousity had finally gotten the best of her.

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, hazzily thinking back on "Beau Soir".

"He said, 'I like you, too'."

**Author's Notes: **This is the half way point! I hope it was worth it. Poor Tsuchiura-kun...I feel a bit sorry for him, but...Afterall, this is Len and Kahoko's story, ne?

Sorry I made Kahoko cry so much in this bit. How do you spell "emo"? And sorry so much takes place in the dorm room. But that's the way it is, in college. You're in class, or in your room, or practicing, and you can hardly get off campus because you're too busy. Isn't it so? But winter break is coming up soon, and you'll have to see what happens next!


	13. Chapter 13

Movement 13: D flat dur

I don't know if this is allowed in dorm rooms, but frankly I don't care. It's coming, be it under cover of night or air-raid, and it is staying. The rule book shall not be checked, the resident director shall not be asked.

Enter the Japanese wonder called the kotatsu. May you live long and prosper in our (usually) happy little family.

[A kotatsu, for those woefully uninformed souls who sit there with question marks on their face upon hearing the word, is a small, low table, covered with a large fluffy futon, with a heater underneath. It's about the most comfortable thing possible in winter, and impossible to get up from once underneath.)

Usa was, for once, absolutely overjoyed. Although she is not a 100% stickler for the rules, as evidenced by our climbing-into-window fiasco, she is 100% stickler for other people's clutter. However, seeing as said kotatsu was on "neutral territory", i.e. The no-man's land in the center of the room, she happily moved her library to the tiny table and refused to give it up for so much as a pencil on my side.

"I've got everything you need anyway," she said, when I brought such trivial matters up. "Pot of tea, loads of pencils, books, paper, music, even a spare set of violin strings. What's mine is yours on this table, so live it up."

I did. Usa had a habit of leaving her various sweets out for the vultures, and I was more than happy to partake while we studied. "Wanna be roommates next year?" I asked, curling my toes in the warmth under the blanket, only half sarcastically, as I munched away on a Mars Bar (courtesy of Usa).

"Mm," she said, pencil in mouth, pondering out the meaning of Schubert's use of the submediant before the coda of his Piano Sonata in A mol.

"That's why," she said at last, removing her pencil and making human noises for a change. "Because the submediant is the subdominant of the relative major. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!"

A thought popped into my head. "Ne, what is music? What do you think it is, anyway?"

"'Music is organized sound'," Usa quoted promptly. I made a face.

"Bo-ring." She raised an eyebrow at me, and I recanted. "Well, I mean, technically, yes, but what is it beyond a scientific point of view?"

She tilted her head to the side, stretching her legs under the kotatsu so that they kicked me on my side, and said, "Hm...I guess for me, it's a moment in time when anything could happen, when the audience could be at the edge of their seats, waiting for the climax, or relaxed, listening to soaring melodies, and what could happen is all up to me. It's how I can communicate without words, and reach deeper than words ever could. How about you?"

I didn't really have an answer to that yet.

"Juries are coming up," I said, instead. "You ready?"

She snorted. "You need to ask? How about you? How's the Bach?"

"Ugh..." I withered like an underwatered fern left out in the sun. "I have not yet become friends with the G string."

Wordlessly, she reached under her bed and threw a black undergarment at me.

"Not that kind of G string." I threw it back at her, and it landed around her ear like a horse-shoe.

"In any case, we really need to start practicing," she said, fishing the thing off her ear and tossing it back under her bed. "Only two weeks left before juries, and then, ta! All done, Bach and all."

"Crazy."

"I know."

"No, I meant you."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

We grinned at each other, and then my cell phone buzzed. "Ah, it's Tsukimori-kun," I said, peeking at the screen.

"What's he say?"

"Just that he has a new piece of music that he wants to work on with me. And that Tsuchiura-kun is a, and I quote, 'terd'."

"I think I like this Tsukimori of yours. How did Tsuchiura take the news, by the way? No, wait, don't tell me. I don't want to feel sorry for him."

"You already do."

"True. Don't make me admit it, though." She paused, thinking. "Because it's sad, you know? You guys were so good together, but Tsukimori is even better. It's not fair. Love stinks, oh Wedding Singer."

"Huh? Who's getting married."

"You really don't keep up with Western lit at all, do you..."

I have the feeling that there is a conspiracy going on behind my back. Haven't I heard this line before?

Usa hopped up from the kotatsu and waddled over with her ankles together over to my side of the room.

"What are you doing?" I believe I am entitled to that question.

"Penguin impression. How is it?" She flapped her wrists stiffly at her sides. "Good?"

"You're horrible. Don't try out for the world penguin imitation competition anytime soon. Shouldn't you be composing or whatever instead?"

She sighed. "All of my compositions are shit." She flapped back over to her side of the kotatsu and sat down as dejectedly as a penguin could. "I just don't have any inspiration, you know. Everything sounds so...flat and lifeless."

"What are you talking about? I thought the piano-violin duet you wrote was gorgeous."

"It's easy to write gorgeous music. All you need to do is hit the Neopolitan 6th at the right time."

"What does that even mean?"

"You'll find out in Theory 3. Anyway, what I want is to write something original, and my own style, but...it's just all...either Chopin, or Beethoven, or a combination of Prokokiev and Bach...which isn't as blasphemous as it sounds...but not _me._"

"Why did you ever pick up composition, anyway? It's obvious that you love piano more than anything."

She sighed and tilted her head back to look at the bare ceiling. "You know, I've been considering it myself ever since the beginning of the semester." She smiled wistfully. "Damn Tsuchiura. He's the one who started it. You see, when I was in junior high, I was learning piano on my own, because I was too stubborn to have a teacher. I mastered Mozart's "Fantasia in D minor" within a year. But I looked around at my friends who were also studying piano, and I thought I was just so behind, because I'd started too late, and I didn't have the velocity or technique that they did. I was trying my hardest on my own, but I just couldn't do it. So I decided, 'Hey, composition is a field that I could get a head start in!' and I hit it hard. It wasn't until this year that I realized, maybe I had a shot at piano, and maybe I could do it again." She winked at me. "It's all thanks to you, though, Kahoko. You showed me that determination and hard work could overcome lack of talent."

"Just when I thought you were actually going to say something nice for once."

"Well. Anyway. I'm going to work my hardest now, at piano, at theory, at composition."

"Me, too. At the violin, I mean."

She nodded satisfyedly. "Good girl."

It was a hard road ahead, for us, both so far behind in experience, but we were going to give it our best shot.

Just you wait, Tsukimori-kun. I'll show you that I can catch up to you, after all!

.

Tsuchiura-kun was gone now, Tsukimori-kun was busy, and I had juries to think of.

Joy to the world.

Juries, for ye so far fortunate souls who have never had to deal with it, is basically the final for individual instrument lessons. The practice rooms were packed for two weeks straight beforehand, but Usa has certain not-always-kind methods of getting a room at any given hour. I even saw her pretty herself up and give the senior guys the puppy-dog-eye treatment. I didn't even know she could flirt.

Somehow, in the middle of this madness, we managed to make enough time to practice together.

"Oh, for the love of God," Usa, with her usual shameless use of explicitives, "play the arpessio on one bow! If you break it up, triplet down-bow, triplet up-bow, it completely messes up the syncopation in my part."

I was regretting our payment method. In addition to now being able to get decent sounds out of the violin, she was thoroughly versed in the vocabulary and techniques and able to pick out all my mistakes from a mile away. It was annoying.

"And you know that this passage says, 'sulla ponte', so why are you playing it at the frog? Good heavens, Kahoko..." Quite annoying.

Furthermore, I couldn't find faults with her playing any more. It had been three weeks since Hanada-sensei had laid the strict "two hours a day" ban on Usa, and she was back full force, implementing Tsuchiura-kun's advice, albeit begrudgingly, and hadn't had problems since. For my part, I was just beginning to understand where she got the stamina to obsess like that, hour after hour, and still energized enough to study up on theory.

The elucidation had come after a particularly hard practice session with her, a week after my "confession" to Tsukimori-kun (from whom I hadn't heard back since). We'd practiced for two solid hours, to the chagrin of the students who wanted a practice room, snipping at each other the entire time, but at the end of it, I'd mastered the piece completely. Every note was just waiting for me to play it; I could pour all my sensitivity into it effortlessly, and I knew, easily, that I wouldn't make a single error whenever I played it.

The feeling was sensational, and it filled me with adrenhaline. I beamed down at Usa, and she grinned back up at me from the piano bench, and I exclaimed, "Okay! Once more, with feeling!"

"Oi, oi," she laughed, wearily, "aren't you worn out? I need a break."

I stuck out my lower lip. "Just once more, please? Didn't you feel how in sync we were at the thirtieth measure? It was so amazing! Almost as amazing as the time I played at Yunoki-sempai's recital with..."

Ouch. The memory still stung.

"Anyway, please please please?"

"Fine," she said, smiling at my eagerness, and turned back around to face the keys. "Ready?"

The euphoria of that piece, fully mastered as it was, didn't seem to fade, though I played it over and over, each time finding a new place to make my phrases more musical, or a place where the articulation could be just a bit clearer. I found that I could work at it for hours, literally, without wearing out. I started to work on my other pieces like that one: slowly, methodically, fully perfecting parts seperately, then working them into the rest of the piece, and progress happened suddenly. And I began to understand, really understand, what made professional musicians able to play for ages without losing their joy of spontaneous creation. Once you master a piece, really get it down, you can do anything with it.

It was pure heaven.

But right now we were still working on the Bach, and Usa was mercilessly rooting out all my errors and hanging them out to dry in front of me.

I huffed as I stuck my violin and bow in my case and made for the door. "Oi, come on. My lesson's in five."

She got up, gathering the music from where it had managed to cover the entire room, somehow, and stuck it in her bag. "Last lesson until break's over. Somehow we survived this far. I won't miss Kumoyama's scowl, that's for sure."

I nodded in agreement. He'd been particularly hard on me, even when I thought I was making a lot of progress. As we stood outside the door to his office, I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we nodded in unison and I opened the door.

"Hino. Did you work on the Bach?"

"Hai."

"We'll see about that."

I reopened my violin case while Usa got situated at the piano bench, and picked up my violin, plucking them gently to make sure they were still in tune.

Uh oh. D had popped out, when I'd carelessly thrown it back in the case after spatting with Usa.

I readjusted it, to the rolled eyes of Kumoyama-sensei, and then noticed that the A string had come undone.

"What the..."

"Here, let me see it," he said, reaching for it. Upon examining the pins, he humphed and reached into a drawer of his desk. Fishing around for a bit, he pulled out a stick, pulled out the D and A pins, rubbed them with it, and stuck them back in.

"Retune, please," he said as he handed it back to me.

"Eh? What did you do?" I asked curiously, as Usa played A4 loudly.

"Sometimes your pins will become too smooth and won't tune well. Use a crayon like that to help."

"Ah..."

"Seriously, Kahoko, you didn't even know that?" muttered Usa from the bench, as I finished my tuning.

That lesson was a bit of a disaster, honestly. I was so nervous, thinking about juries and stuff, that I kept grating the bow on the violin from pressing down too hard, and making the E string squeak loudly when I ran into it while playing A.

"Change the position of your violin. Right now it's at an angle that you don't usually play at. That's why you keep running into the other strings. Honestly, I shouldn't have to tell you this by now. Have you been practicing at all?"

I winced at his sharp comments, readjusting the angle of the violin on my shoulder, and continued.

"That D5 should be sharper. You're getting lazy with the extensions."

"Gomen nasai."

"More strength with the fourth finger. It's squeaking badly."

What I wouldn't give for Ousaki-san's pleasant smile, or Kanayan-sensei's encouragement!

After what seemed much longer than an hour, we finally ended the lesson. Usa got up and practically ran out the door before me, probably going back to the practice rooms.

"All I can say is, I hope your juries will go better than this lesson," Kumoyama said, as I wearily packed up.

"Yes, sir."

As I turned to go, something fell out of the front pocket of my violin case. I turned around to pick it up, but Kumoyama-sensei got to it before me. He squinted to make the title out. When he did, his eyebrows sprang back as though a spring had snapped, and he said, "Yehudi Menuin, huh? Do you like him?" he asked as he handed it back to me

"Very much."

"Yehudi Menuin...he was a man in his own class," my teacher mused.

I cocked my head at him, though it looked like he'd forgotten I was there again. "Ano...sir?"

He snapped out of his reverie and blinked twice as he looked at me. "Ah, sumanai. I just remembered...Once I had the privelege of having a master class with him. I was young, about your age, and cocky, but when he stood in front of me and demonstrated on his own violin, I felt about two centimeters tall. Such power, such accuracy!" He sighed. "Well, in any case, you can learn just from listening to him. You can learn a lot of things just by listening to the great performers, Hino. Don't forget to listen."

"Yes, sir."

It just so happens that juries went fine, after all. They didn't even ask me to play the Bach.

.

I walked back up to my dorm room after my juries, and stood there for a moment, still holding my violin case, staring at the room.

The kotatsu was still hidden under a pile of Usa's stuff. My bed was still covered with fluffy pink pillows. My cell phone was beginning to sing "Ave Maria" to me on the desk.

Vacation had just begun, and suddenly everything felt empty and incomplete.

I picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Kahoko. It's me." I don't think I'll ever get tired of him saying my name that way.

"Tsukimori-kun."

"Are your finals over?"

"Yes."

"...When can I see you again?"

"Can you come over to my house this evening?"

Can I! "I think I can manage."

"Good." Pause. "I miss you. Did you do well in your juries?"

Who the hell knows? "Pretty good."

"Just make sure your scores are high enough to stay in school, okay?"

"Yeah." What about after winter break? Do we have to do this again? "When are you going to college, Tsukimori-kun?"

"I don't know. It doesn't seem necessary at this point."

"Oh." What a weird concept. Normally you can't get a good job until you get into college. But apparently if you're a musical prodigy, university is redundant.

I felt myself start to wilt inside again.

"Then I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, I'll be there."

Later on, as I stood awkwardly in the piano room with just Tsukimori-kun and our violins, as his mother was out at the time, the uneasy misgivings came back. For one, Tsukimori-kun didn't even mention our conversation two weeks prior. The first thing he did was brusquely put sheet music up on the piano and bark at me to tune.

If Tsuchiura-kun made Usa look like a kindly old piano teacher, Tsukimori-kun made Tsuchiura-kun look like a gentle old professor giving delicate advice.

"Oi, who taught you how to double stop like that? You want to blow my ears out with that screeching? I've told you a million times: That pitch is flat!"

I winced and tried to do my best to comply with his wishes.

"Once again, from the beginning."

I lifted my bow to the strings.

"Don't lift the bow so stifly. Relax your fingers more. You should be holding onto the bow as if it could blow away at a breath." He reached for my bow and demonstrated. It seemed to conform to his hand as though it were a part of his body. "Again."

I tried to keep everything in mind and lifted the bow again.

"Now your touch is light enough, but your accuracy will fail with that sort of attitude. Again."

I lifted it again, and at least made it to the strings this time.

"As soon as you pull it at that angle, you'll hit the A string. Try it again."

"For pity's sake," I snapped at him, finally, "part of the reason I'm doing so poorly right now is because you're hanging over my shoulder like a vulture."

"Being nervous is part of being successful! You won't be able to perform correctly in front of an audience if you can't even play in front of me."

"Oh, what do you know." I turned my face away from him and lifted the bow again. I got as far along as being able to play a phrase when I felt his hand on mine, holding the bow.

"Like this," he said, and his tone was more patient this time. He played the bow through my hand as though I were a marionette puppet, and suddenly I could feel exactly what he was getting at.

"Relax your shoulders, especially the left one." He reached around my back, still holding the bow with his right hand, and adjusted the height of the instrument I was holding. I felt my heart stop. I felt his breath on my right ear. More than that, I could feel him, trembling, and I pulled the violin away and looked up into his eyes, over my shoulder.

He swallowed hard, and then he quietly slipped the violin and bow from my hands and laid them on the piano bench, to the side. "Kahoko." He put his hands around my waist and spun me around to face him, his eyes blazing intensity at me.

"Tsukimori-kun..."

"Stop calling me that. It's formal and annoying." His hands started to creep around my back, encircling my waist and drawing me alarmingly closer.

"What? Tsukimori-kun, you're not making any..."

He cut me off by forcing his lips onto mine, his momentum carrying us backwards until the backs of my legs hit the front of the piano, and I sat down hard on the keys. Impulsively, to stop the resulting cacophony, I pushed against his chest with my hands, but he just pulled my waist up against him, closed the key cover, and then pushed me back down onto it.

I gave into his passion and kissed back, again and again, my arms curling up around his neck and pulling him tighter against me. Soon the kisses opened and became wet, and full, and I didn't even know who or where I was anymore; all I could feel was him, all I wanted were his hands, his lips, his heart. The feeling of wanting to touch him more, to deepen the kiss more, was overwhelming.

At last his mouth parted from mine and began working across my cheek, to my ear, which he nibbled at delicately. He continued to trail kisses down the side of my neck, and when he'd reached my collarbone, he seemed to remember what he was doing, suddenly, and came back up with a gasp.

"I'm sorry...Kahoko...I didn't mean to go this far..."

I refused to let go of my hold around his neck. "Len."

"What?"

"You want me to call you that, don't you? Len, Len, oh, Len, it's been too long, we've been apart too long..." I pulled him back down into another long kiss.

The minutes passed, the two of us oblivious to anything, even the loud ticking of the grandfather clock, as my hands got itchy and started to roam over his shoulders, feeling the hidden strength of his biceps, and then back to his chest, where they played with the buttons of his shirt, as his hands ran through my hair, and over my back and...

And that was the moment I realized how much further we both wanted to go, so much that it was scaring me.

I broke away, staring into his questioning eyes, reflecting my own desire, and I was frightened, good Reader, by how close we were, suddenly, without warning, our two bodies mashed together, heaving with gasps for air, and heated feverishly.

We pulled apart, just enough so that we weren't actually touching, and then he said, "Hell with it," and reached for me again.

And then his cell phone rang.

"Kuso," he muttered, stepping across the room to pick it up from the window seat. "Ja? Nein, nein..."

As his voice went off into the harsh language that I recognized as German, I dazedly sat down at the piano bench and idly played Schumann's "Melody" with the soft pedal on. As Len finally hung up the phone, in annoyance, we heard the front door open, and Misa-san's voice called out, "Len? Are you home?"

He looked at me, stroked the back of my hair down hastily, and then cleared his throat and called out, "We're in here, Mother."

"We?" She appeared at the doorway and then gave me a bright smile. "Why, Kahoko! So nice to see you again! I wish Len had told me you were coming...No doubt you were telling her about the trip to Italy next week, right, Len?"

"Huh?" I looked over, confused, at him, as he guiltily replied, "Not yet."

My heart sank into my stockinged feet. "You're...leaving next week?" And you didn't tell me again?

He got up from the window seat and joined me at the piano. Taking my hands tenderly in his, he said, "Yes. I'm leaving for Italy on Friday. And I'm taking you with me this time."

**Author's Notes: **

Hi all! Yes, I finally let them kiss. I hope it was satisfactory...though it's clearly not enough for Kahoko ^^ Like I said earlier, the story's only half done at this point. More adventures to come!

I feel like I've been lazy about Japanese recently. Dunno why, but I've gotten really wrapped up the musical aspect of this story, and I've been neglecting other stuff. I know that there's a lot of musical terminology and "physcology"...that is, more or less actual worries and problems from a musician's point of view, and if you don't like all that, it's fine to skip through it to the parts that you like. But honestly, this is more of a realistic story than anything else, and it would seem unnatural to leave all of that out.

Yosh, next time I'll be posting from Glasgow! (Yay, travelling!)


	14. Chapter 14

Movement 14: C sharp mol

"Konnichiwa, Kahoko."

"Konnichiwa, Len."

I smiled into the phone as I let the scrumptious taste of his name curve over my tongue. "I can't wait to go to Europe. How long are we going to be there?"

"Just about a week. My concert in Italy is on Christmas Eve, but I'll only have a couple of days to prepare with the orchestra beforehand, and after Christmas, I have a small recital in the States that Hihara arranged."

"Really?" Hihara-sempai invited him, and he accepted? If that didn't show improvement, I didn't know what did.

"Yes. I know it's a small affair for such a long flight, but since we'll be flying back to Japan by that route anyway, a short stop won't harm anything."

"And after that we return to Japan? Will we make it back in time for New Year's?"

"Yes. I have another small concert in Niigata on New Year's Eve, and the second day after that, I plan to go to Kyoto. With you, of course," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"So many concerts!" I sighed. Although I was looking forward to hearing him perform in public, I realized that that meant less "just us" time.

Eeee. Just us. The memory of the kiss came back and turned my stomach in knots. What would happen, if we were left alone? As I thought about it, a little sense of nervousness twisted in me.

Wait a minute, you. You only just kissed. You should be grateful for that! Don't take it too fast, oh, just don't...

But when we kiss again...if we kiss again...will I see that flaming desire in his eyes again? And will I also desire...more?

I shivered, suddenly, though I was tucked neatly under the warmth of the kotatsu.

Len heard my silence, I'm sure, but all he said was, "Are you all packed for Europe?"

"Almost."

"How did you mom take the news?"

"She thought it would be a great cultural experience." In other words, I haven't told her yet.

"Kahoko." He knows me too well.

"Fine, fine, I'll call her after I hang up with you."

It was two days before our Departure. I was still staying in the dorms, since the short amount of time before leaving made packing up for going home slightly redundant, and as a result my mother had kept calling to ask when I'd be coming. I put her off, saying that I wanted a little more time to practice where it was quiet and there weren't distractions, but the disappointment in her voice and the promise of "some great surprise when you get home!" made me feel guilty.

"All right. Kahoko," he hesitated for a minute, and then said, lowly, "I really can't wait to show you Europe. I've wanted to for...these two years. I..." He cut off, suddenly, and I patiently waited for him to continue.

"Anyway, make sure you bring some warmer-weather clothing. Italy and LA aren't as cold at this time of year as Japan."

Practical, as always. Well, honestly I didn't really mind it. It was so...Len. I enjoyed it, truly; this slightly Stoic quality about him, although there were aspects of him, his stiffness, even as we kissed, the tenseness, even when we talked; he was guarding himself, even now, when I thought he'd changed from being abroad, and I wanted so badly just to see what was underneath all that. He was still as opaque as a stone wall, for all he'd grown softer in his demeanor.

"Len."

"What?"

"Nothing, I just felt like saying your name." I tilted my head to the side and closed my eyes contentedly.

He tsked at me over the phone. "Don't just say my name for no reason."

I cringed a little. "Gomen nasai..."

Then he added softly, "At least tell me you like me, like that other night, if you're going to say my name."

I caught my breath, dizzy with exhileration, and took several seconds before I said, "Len. I like you, I like you so much."

"And I like you." Ooh! Oh, butterflies, if you fly any more vivaciously, you'll lift me right out from under the kotatsu! "And you should call your mom."

"I will." She'd better be okay with it. I'm in college, after all, I should be able to decide what I do during break.

"I'll see you on Friday morning."

"Ja matta ne."

"Bye."

I hit the "end call" button and paused a minute before dialing home, his "And I like you" still giving the flutteries in my midregion a workout.

.

It was still early in the afternoon as we arrived at Narita airport, went through the long, tedious process of bag-checking and security, and waiting, a full two hours ahead of time, of course, in the terminal, waiting for our plane to come in. More than a few Gaijin were sitting around us, talking in various languages, English and Italian among them, and Len, cool as always, was simply reading a book in German, I think about Tchaikovsky. Which left me to sit there and glance around and get cold feet.

Oh, I was. For all my earlier impatience to get out of Japan, now that I was sitting here, about ready to cross the sea, not to mention a whole continent, for the first time, I couldn't quell the uneasy misgivings that were giving my stomach a very different sort of queaziness. Because, it suddenly seemed ridiculous, that there was actually The World out there, one I had never seen before. That there was a completely different way of living, that I knew about, from the few Western movies I'd seen before, and food I'd never eaten and houses made completely of stone and...

And I felt like bolting. I really did. Each and every one of my mother's warnings, after her reluctant permission for me to go abroad for my winter vacation ("Sweetie, you never know what will happen out there. The West is a very dangerous place, and I'd really like to have you home for the break." "Mom. I'm an adult. I'll be safe, and I'll see you when I get home.") revisited my memory and made their accusations loudly in my head.

I left Len and the luggage to betake myself to a terminal café and have a sweet cup of coffee to calm down. Twirling half-heartedly on the round stool with the foam cup on the table in front of me, I told myself, Really, Kahoko. You call yourself level-headed. You should be excited for this opportunity to go. Think about how much effort Len's put into you coming along. (I'd overheard a rather frustrated call to his manager in which my participation in the trip was begrudgingly admitted and scheduled). Think about what a great learning opportunity this is.

I took a sip of the coffee, though my stomach seemed to rebel at the notion.

But...I'd never even been on a plane before! What if we crashed over the ocean? What if we ran out of fuel? What if we flew through a storm?

My hand shook a little and I spilled a bit of hot liquid onto my fingers.

"Ha...tchi!"

"Careful." I looked up at the voice, as Len, carting all of our combined luggage gracefully to the side of the table, took the cup out of my hands and set it firmly on the round table I was high-chaired at like a child. He took a seat opposite me, taking my slightly burned hand to inspect it. "Are you all right? You shouldn't try to drink it until it's cool. How is your hand?"

"It's fine. I thought you were reading?" I watched his hands as they stroked mine gently, patting the wet areas with a paper napkin.

"I was. You were taking too long, so I got worried. Are you alright?"

I avoided his gaze. "Yes," I lied. One of his hands left mine and travelled up to my chin, pulling it up so that my eyes met his, which seemed to pierce into me.

"You're nervous."

"A little." A little a LOT.

"This is your first time away from Japan, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He smiled, and then suddenly, with a quick glance around, leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. I relished the feel of his lips, very fast and soft, on my skin, and was tempted to return the favor on a more oral part of his face. But his hand had crept up to my cheek, his thumb stroking it gently, as he said, "Don't worry. I'll be with you the entire time."

I shivered slightly, even as I took a cautious sip of the coffee to hide the wide smile that was threatening to split my face in two. "I know."

His eyes darted down to my mouth as I drank, and he stood suddenly. "Can you finish that quickly? We need to start boarding soon."

"Yes."

He continued to hold my hand tightly, as we stood in line for boarding, and as we squeezed through the narrow aisles to put our luggage up in the ridiculously small storage units, and as we sat down and waiting for the plane to start taxi-ing. It was a good thing he did, despite the various disapproving glances we got from various elderly people flying with us, because I kept thinking to myself, I can get off the plane now, before we get going...It's starting to move, but it's still slow enough for me to jump out, just need to open the window, Stop that sort of thinking, Kahoko!...I can't be leaving Japan, I'm scared to go, and I'm not looking forward to flying!

But he continued to hold my hand.

"Ready?" he asked, as the airplane started to get up speed, rushing so that the pavement stripes underneath blurred as one, and, with a sudden burst of acceleration that pushed me back into the seat, the front wheels lifted, and then slowly the back wheels came up from the ground and...

...And we were suddenly in the air, watching all the people in their brightly-colored vests running around the take-off zone, passing the security tower, watching the sparsely-populated area of Narita drop away smally underneath...

As we entered the cloud bank, Len finally released my hand, turned to me and smiled.

"Well done," he said.

.

I won't bore you with the details of the flight, much as I am tempted to torture you with descriptions of the long hours in front of a tiny little screen, searching for movies I'd never seen before in vain, listening to the scanty amount of classical music because the popular stuff wasn't what I was in to, shivering under the tiny blankets, feeling my legs go numb so that I shifted my feet, and then my knees locked up, and how the three rows across of seats seemed far too many for such a small space and trying to sleep...Well, I won't go into all that, nor the short stop off in the Indian terminal before the next flight, nor the insanely long lines at the EU customs, nor the dirty train ride into the center of Rome before we took a taxi to our hotel.

Therefore I will proceed directly to the point:

Lest the Reader be uninformed, let me describe to you what Rome is like.

Rome is awful. A seriously horrible place. You get on the train to Termini, and the old, old walls flash by, and the old roads, and old apartment buildings, and guess what? They are all trashed. Graffiti, trash, dirt, everywhere! Who would do such a thing to centuries old buildings? Plus, everyone smells! When was the last time they took baths? They're noisy, they're rude...I don't even know where to begin...the rivers are clogged with trash, the trees alongside all hung with white soggy remains of who knows what. The roads are old, even older than those in Japan, and much more cracked and uneven. I sighed as I leaned wearily against the windows of the cab, watching these things all pass by, drearily.

Len, on the other hand, was too busy pointing out all the sights to be affected by such things. Or maybe he'd gotten used to everything already.

"If we go along that direction," he said, "I can show you the Colleseum and the Roman ruins. And about here," pointing on the map, "are the Spanish Steps. But watch your pockets. People in Europe aren't afraid to steal from you or cheat you."

"What?" What about honor? Did these people have none? Weren't they afraid of karma?

Here is another thing to be noted, dear Reader, in case you have never been to Italy. First, all the houses and buildings are built of solid, thick brick and stone, some centuries old, and few that are very modern. The windows are tiny, but the doors are enormous. And there are bars and gates everywhere. All the doors get locked, all the time. I couldn't believe it. The fact that thievery was this common made me sick. Even in the middle of Tokyo, people still leave their doors unlocked at night. But here? Not a chance.

Len threw me a sympathetic look as I halfheartedly climbed the wide stone steps to our hotel, dragging my luggage behind on the bumpy cobblestones. "I know it's hard," he said. "Culture shock is bad enough from country to country in Europe itself, but from Japan to Italy is the worst. It's so completely opposite," he said, sighing as he looked around at the walls and the huge old wooden door at which he buzzed the caller-box and we went in.

The huge door at the entry seemed like nothing compared to the height of the stone ceilings, bright lighting glossing over the marble floors and long staircase. "What, do they expect giants?" I muttered to myself, waiting as Len presented our passports at the front desk for the (unsmiling) hostess, and wordlessly lead the way up the stairs.

As I felt my arms beginning to break off from the two bags I was carrying, Len stopped abruptly and pointed to a door on our right. "That's your room," he said, briefly. "If you could take just about an hour to freshen up, I'll meet you out here and we can go out and see the city."

Thanks, but I've seen enough already. "Where is your room?"

He pointed directly across. "Our time here is short, and there's a lot to see over the next couple of days, especially since I need to rehearse with the orchestra tonight and tomorrow night before the concert on Tuesday. In fact," he hesitated a bit, "today might be all we have. I need to concentrate and practice, starting tomorrow." Reading the disappointment on my face, he added, "Gomen ne. But you should know what it's like by now."

"Wakarimashita."

He smiled and gave me a gentle push toward my room. "It's a good thing we're here early on in the day. And also, I'm looking forward to showing you Rome. Kahoko."

Well, one day was better than nothing. And anyway, his room was right across from mine. Happy smiles.

.

"Wah...how amazing! How old is this, again?" I gaped in amazement, feeling tiny as we looked around from the inside of the Colleseum.

"Almost 2000 years." Len gazed up and around at the huge round structure, as though he'd never seen it before from the inside. Possibly he'd never had time to before. I felt a little smug that we were sharing our first experience of it together.

I felt like a tourist, which I was, but I took out my camera and began photographing the place, though its immensity made the tiny images on my LCD screen seem frivolous. The long arches, some collapsed in, showing the crumbling stones pressed together, winged in all around the oblong arena, which, as Len had explained to me already, had originally been covered by boards and sand, but now was laid bare to reveal the intestine-like tunnels hiding below, from which gladiators and animals would emerge and begin their barbaric mini-wars. Tall above loomed the narrow layered seating areas, in some places complete and some destroyed. Standing at the front platform where Caesar had stood, giving his approval to the deaths of men and beasts, we looked out over the whole, commanding scene. The structure's age was like something left out and picked at by carrion birds, left out to bleach under the sun, not like the respectful courtesy bestowed on Japanese ancient buildings. Not for the first time that day, I felt cold and indignant at the brash lack of honor in this other, ancient society.

"Are you finished?" Len asked, his voice close behind my ear, as he touched me gently on the arm. "There's a lot more to see, so we'd better keep moving."

"I'm so tired," I moaned halfheartedly, following him. We hadn't had hardly any break, since he kept moving us from place to place, and on top of the long plane ride from yesterday, I felt ready to drop.

He didn't make any reply, except to reach out and take my hand, freely, as though nobody could see.

"O...oi!" I protested feebly, not wanting to withdraw my hand, but also aware that we were in public. "Don't you think that we shouldn't..."

"This is Europe, Kahoko," he said, not letting go. "This is okay here."

As I looked around, I became aware that other couples were giving way to even more embarassing public displays of affection, and I blushed. "Seriously? People do this sort of thing...you know...kissing and all, where other people can see?"

"Yup. I'd like to see you in France." He winked at me, and I felt taken aback, suddenly, by how open he was acting. "Besides, my manager isn't here yet. I heard she got held up in Japan because of storm warnings, and is now absolutely furious that we left before she did." He laughed aloud. "Serves her right. I'm so tired of her hanging around, always making sure I'm doing the right thing and..." He leaned over quickly and kissed me on the cheek. When I opened my eyes (yes, I did close them, hoping for more), he was staring at me, breathing heavily, as though he couldn't believe what he'd just done, and on his face was a wide smile.

We took an early dinner, though for me it felt like dinner should have been AGES ago, and it should already be breakfast, at an outdoor restaurant looking out over a plaza with a fountain. The people milled by through the late afternoon sun, accompanied by the sound of a second-rate guitar player sitting next to several portrait-drawing stands.

I let Len order for me, for obvious reasons, trying not to feel terribly annoyed that he was already fluent in who-knows-how-many-languages, and hoped it was something good.

"So, what do you think of Rome?" he asked casually as we waited for the food, looking out over the courtyard.

"Filthy," I answered automatically. His eyebrows lifted, and a small twinkle appeared in his eyes.

"Is that all? What, no appreciation for the great history here, the magnificence of the huge stone structures, the world-renowned cuisine?" His voice was laced with sarcasm, which miffed me a bit. Oi, this was my first time abroad! I was starting to hope it would be my last, too...

I picked at the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, which always looked so romantic in pictures but here only seemed ironic, and took a drink from the glass in front of me.

"I'm afraid I'm about to find out about that last one," I grumbled, as our food emerged from inside the restaurant, the waiter threading his way through the closely placed tables and ignoring the calls from other tables.

He placed the large white plate in front of me and walked off without saying a word. I eyed it suspiciously. The dish appeared to be pasta, but what the meat was, what the gooey white stuff on top was, I had no idea.

"Len, what is this?"

"Sukimono."

"In other words, you don't know what it is, either."

He sighed and picked up his own fork. "Just eat it. It's delicious. I've never gone wrong with Italian food."

I poked at the goo with my fork, watching the creamy sauce pool around the long flat noodles. Awkwardly, I stabbed at it a couple of times before managing to get the stuff on the fork and into my mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, I decided it wasn't bad, a bit too weird as far as texture was concerned, but the taste was full and savory.

"You're really bad at this," Len said, leaning forward with his napkin in hand.

"Eh?"

"Stay still."

He gently wiped at my chin with his napkin, a bit lingeringly, I might add, and then leaned back in his chair. I felt my face go red. "Thanks."

"No problem. Just try to take smaller bites next time."

"Urgh..." So many things to get used to! Who needs noodles twenty centimeters long, anyway? And covered with...I think...melted cheese sauce?

I found myself thinking of tasty, simple soba longingly.

My next surprise came when Len called over the waiter for the bill.

"Ah, I should leave a tip."

"What?" A tip?

"In Europe, you always leave a tip, for service and whatnot."

"Isn't that terribly rude?" 

"Nope. Because as you'll see," he pointed on the bill, "they round down their prices regularly."

How weird! Tips for service, and rounding down on the bill! Wasn't that completely backward?

"There's one more thing I want to show you tonight, before it gets too late," he continued. "Although it's a pity I can't show you the Vatican museum, but I think you'll like St. Peter's Basilica, and it's just around time for the choral Mass."

"Mass?" I felt my stomach turn a bit queasily when I thought about that. Western religion seemed a bit...forward for my taste. For example, some people actually seemed to believe in it. I mean, yeah, it's great to visit temples and stuff, because it's good for your mind, but to actually worship some "diety"? Isn't that taking it too far? Besides, I'd seen the outside of some of the cathedrals we'd passed while walking on the roads to and from the Colleseum. They were immense, huge pointed buildings of stone, solid and forbidding.

But when we entered the Basilica, I forgot about all that.

It completely blew me away. We entered to the muted silence, people milling around in whispers, and the upward-arching columns drew my attention up, up, to the peaked painted domes, seemingly kilometers high, and then I looked around at the huge stone statues carved out into the room, peaking around pillars, leaning, hushing the room enclosed. If I were to describe everything, it would bore you to tears, I'm sure, because there's so much to see, the gold sunburst at the front behind the crucifix, the marble Pieta behind solid glass, the colored stone floor...

As I was admiring the intricate marble sculptures of various Bible characters along the walls, a lonely voice rang out from the front of the Cathedral, singing its mysterious praise in a language I did not know, and another which I understood with my heart. The sound took on a life of its own, as the original melody gave forth its harmonic series, singing notes unsung. I closed my eyes, remembering what Ichi had said about modality, and listened intently as another voice joined, and the two of them rose in harmony, or sank to a tuneful whisper.

"Kahoko...ah, I should have known." Len's footsteps, which had been getting farther away, came back, and I opened my eyes to look into his. He was feeling it, too, the magic of the musical echoes. He smiled, and took both my hands in his, leaning forward to kiss my forehead softly. "Being in this Cathedral and hearing these notes, I first learned to understand why for hundreds of years, the harmonies which you and I take for granted were for so long considered dissonant," he whispered, leading me by the hand to the front, where we looked at the dazzling sculpture of Christ at the front, surrounded by outstretching golden beams, so sharp that you thought you might cut yourself on them.

"What do you mean?" I whispered back, our heads close together so we wouldn't disturb the people around us.

"You've studied about the harmonic series, right?" he asked, and I nodded. "Well, you know how the series starts out with larger intervals, octave, fifth, fourth, and so on, in the bass range, and gradually diminishes in size until they are too close together to be distinguishable? Think about it, Kahoko. For centuries, music was made in stone buildings of enormous arches, like this one, without muffling the acoustical properties of the room the way we do now, so that every note can ring properly but also distinctively. All of their notes rang together, creating chords even with monophony, a solo creating layers and layers of different notes, all by itself. With that in mind, and considering the harmonic series singing different notes underneath, think of all the harmonies that were already being made. Using the chord progressions that Beethoven and Schubert would begin to use later on, you can only imagine the cacophony that would arise as a result. And all because of these magnificent rooms," he said, gazing up at one of the painted peaks above our heads. "Imagine what a solo violin would sound like in this room."

"I was already doing so," I said, smiling at him. We continued, hand in hand, while the polyphony around us sang its complex harmonies in open intervals.

And the sun set golden, creating dark shadows in the corners where the golden candelabras didn't reach, the first day in Italy.

**Author's Notes: **Sorry about all the hasty description in this chapter! Like many things, I feel like it's important to get a general feel for the situation, especially since the first oversea trip isn't something that you can just write, "And so we boarded the plane the next day and flew to Italy". But at the same time, I didn't want to write a lot of stuff that wasn't important to the plot.

In any case, thanks for reading, as always! I really appreciate the reviews, and I've received so many beautiful and helpful ones while writing this story. I'm so happy! ^^

Oh, and by the way, Kahoko's naivity about "all things Europe" is not intended to be pointed at the Japanese. This is more of what I think Kahoko herself would be like, and how she would react. You kind of get the feeling in the anime that she's not overly bright. In a way, this story is kind of a "before and after" picture of her, sort of a "coming of age" thing. I hope it's not too boring.

Translations:

Gomen nasai: I'm very sorry

Gomen ne: Sorry

Wakarimashita: I understand


	15. Chapter 15

Movement 15: B flat dur

Day two in Italy...and I'm bored out of my mind.

Why? Well, let me give you a clue: Immediately as soon as we got back to our hotel after visiting the Basilica last night, Len said somthing about needing desperately to practice and disappeared into his room. I waited patiently in my room for awhile, and then after a couple of hours I went out into the hall to knock on his door and ask if he wanted to hang out for a bit before bed. Even before I could knock on the heavy wooden door, I could tell that he had as good as hung a "do not disturb for any reason except fire" sign outside his door. The intensity of his practicing seeped out through the crack in the bottom of the door and puddled out on the marble of the hall floor. I decided it was best not to get in his way, and went back to my room.

The next morning, I woke before the sun had risen, and my entire body began shouting, "Jet lag! Jet lag! Stay in bed, for God's sake!"

...I complied. The next time I awoke, it was practically afternoon, and a knock at Len's door alerted me to the absense of him, his violin, and my escape from the hotel. There was no way I was going back out into that crazy city all alone. I'd get lost, mostly likely, and then robbed or kidnapped or something equally gruesome, and nobody would know the better. I'd be yet another "ignorant tourist".

I opted out of that, and decided to stay in my hotel room until he returned. Unfortunately, it did not seem that that would happen any time soon.

I practiced a little, half-heartedly, and stared out at the stone wall that was visible from my barred window (I felt like an inmate). For some reason, I didn't have the drive to practice right now that I had before the break had started. Because I knew that if I got started, I'd want to work at it for a couple of hours, at least, and I wasn't ready to put in the commitment for that long of a time of losing myself in the music. It was much pleasanter to let my thoughts wander, whether in agony or bliss, about Len, and feel his hand holding mine again and...after the concert, what might happen when we had more time to be together...

Somehow I still can't get rid of this yearning for more! Why? Isn't it supposed to be enough, isn't the first kiss supposed to fulfill all these dreams since you were a child, not wake new sleeping dragons?

I went down for another nap, woke with a terrific headache, and he still wasn't back.

I wasn't thrilled about the situation. I ordered room service, somewhat vindictively selecting the most expensive item on the menu and charging it to his room. Of course, what came...I don't exactly know what it was, but somehow I have the feeling it wasn't curry...

Fine, then. What time is it in Japan right now?

I hit speed dial.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Usa. What's up."

"What do you think?"

"Has something to do with you having locked yourself in the practice rooms for the entirity of winter break, doesn't it."

"Well, duh."

"Oi, what are you still doing on campus? I'm surprised they're letting you stay. Why don't you go home?"

Silence on the other line. I got the funny feeling I was treading over the "do not cross" police tape of Usa's background. She wasn't exactly the open type, after all.

"Um...what are you practicing?"

"Albeniz's 'España. It's brilliant. Wanna hear?"

"Sure."

There came the sound of her putting down the cell phone, on top of the lid of the piano, I'm guessing, and then I pulled my ear away, wincing, as the first notes came way too loud. Once I'd found a good distance for the phone, I concentrated on the notes. The melodies were simple, and the harmonies were hardly difficult, but there was a certain gypsy-like quality to them, the unique modality and playful rhythms, that seemed to blend the classical piano and fiddle attributes beautifully. I wondered vaguely if Usa had started the pieces as a result of her sudden desire to blend popular music and classical. If so, she was succeeding. The flippant quality of the six pieces would have been completely out-of-character with "pre-Muse" Usa, but now that she had opened up her world, she felt the character as though the music was just born out of her hands.

She picked up the phone when she'd finished, about twenty minutes later, and asked, "How was it?"

"Well, besides you attempting to deafen me at first..."

"Oh, sorry. It's so hard to tell what you're hearing."

"Besides that, I thought it was brilliant."

I could sense her smug smile through the wires and was unable to contain my instinctive desire to "take her down a peg" as usual. "Although you know that you were playing the staccato notes too short, right?"

She snorted. "I was going for a guitar feel."

"Yeah, whatever, you're just making excuses." It felt great to pick on my roommate again.

"Ne, Kahoko, about next spring..." She hesitated, and I could feel uncertainty and apprehension in that pause.

"...What about next spring? Something come up?" A thought crossed my mind. "You're not calling to tell me that you don't want to accompany me next year, right?"

"...No...Never mind, just forget I mentioned anything. How's the boy toy?"

I sighed. "I feel like he's avoiding me on purpose. Yesterday we went all over Rome together, holding hands and...it was so fun...but then we got back last night, and I haven't seen him since. I think it's his manager," I added viciously. "That person seems to have his life in a death-grip."

Usa laughed. "Well, yeah, what do you think? You're travelling together with a young man with a promising future as a violinist. His manager probably doesn't want word to leak out that he's already taken, for fear that all the young ladies that love him will decide he's not worth coming to see."

I winced. "Ow. I thought this was about music, not celebrity-crushes."

"Welcome to publicity."

"Anyway," she continued, "you're still practicing, right? A little break is okay, but don't lose your momentum, okay? You know how much progress you can lose just by missing a day or two."

You sound like Len. "Yeah, I know, I know."

A bit of silence. "Kahoko. I know that sound."

"Eh?"

"What's wrong now?"

I sighed. I knew what she was talking about. So my face reveals my feeling, and even my silence does, too? "I just feel...unmotivated, you know? Like I'm waiting for something to happen..."

"...Between you two?"

I ignored her. "...and in the meantime, I can't get my mind into practicing. Ne, Usa. What motivates you? Why do you keep working so hard, day in day out?"

"Mm..." I could sense the ginormous wheels in her brain spinning again. "I guess it's like, a search for the perfect, you know? That elusive perfection, that Brahms talked about, in composition, piano, everything."

"Eh? What did Brahms say?"

She tsked impatiently. "He said, 'Work at it until there is not a note too much or too little, not a bar you could improve on. Whether it is also beautiful is an entirely different matter, but perfect it must be'."

"Bleh."

"Yo, Kahoko, I need to get going. I've got to practice like crazy right now."

"Eh? Juries are long over."

"Mm." Her voice got suspiciously quiet. "Ja ne," she said, and hung up suddenly.

I put down the phone, got up, went to Len's door, and heard the same ominous "do not enter" violin practicing as before. I sighed and went back to my room. My violin case stared at me, daring me to play, but I still didn't feel like it.

Let's see...I picked up my phone again and dialed Nao. Beep...beep...beep...busy, aparently. I called Mio. Same there. Probably they're talking to each other.

I wonder what Tsuchiura-kun is up to right now?

I selected his speed dial number and paused, with my thumb above "dial". In my mind, I could still hear him saying, "Kahoko..." like he had just after he'd kissed me.

I started to run over in my head what had transpired between the two of us that day, trying to amend the way I'd said it...trying to make up for it, as if I could just think the occurance away. I could have said it so much nicer...or earlier, before I'd gotten his hopes up. Why hadn't I done that ages ago, anyway? I'd already known that if it came down to him and Len, I would choose Len, without hesitation. But why had I hesitated?

Why?

I snapped my cellphone shut and threw it away from me, onto the bed, as if it was a serpent. Guilt was starting to spread like wildfire through me again...the way his smile had disappeared, just like that, as he started up at me from the practice room floor.

I was a horrible person, wasn't I?

A knock came on the door, and I hurried over to the door, opening it with a smile on my face. "Len! You're finally...ah..."

Instead of Len, an angry-looking woman in her mid thirties, with short curly dark hair and gaunt features, was standing with her hands on her hips. I guessed instantly that this was the ominous "manager".

She said something in German, and I, sensing the tone of her voice, looked over at the clock next to my bed. "Ah...kuso...I'm not ready yet...Um...'danke'," I said to her, hoping that the word was right (I'd heard it in a movie once). I smiled, but she didn't smile back, and I closed the door, bowing my head nervously, and ran across the room to get dressed for the concert.

.

"Hey, you ready?" I asked Len as we climbed into the waiting taxi, his manager pointedly sitting between us. "I've missed you, where have you been?"

"I've been finessing a few parts, and this afternoon I had a dress rehearsal," he said, without looking over at me, around his manager, sitting with her arms crossed and staring straight ahead. "I'm sorry I was busy today," he said, his voice still crisp.

"Ah, that's all right!" I said cheerfully, trying to catch his eye. "I really needed to sleep in today, anyway. Jet lag is..."

"If you don't mind, please don't talk to me until after the concert," he interrupted me. "I need to concentrate."

"Oh...okay..." I wondered vaguely what I'd do for the two hours before the beginning of the concert. I sighed and leaned against the window, looking out at a city that I was already tired of.

He hadn't even said anything yet about the dress I was wearing, even though he'd been the one who had bought it for me, before we left Japan. I smoothed down the delicate white-and-pink sequined strapless top and rearranged the taffeta bottom, sighing again.

"Can you please stop sighing like that? It's very distracting."

"Sorry."

As soon as we arrived at the concert hall, he was whisked backstage, surrounded by people, included his manager and the conductor, and I was left in the backdraft and back seats of the theater. Everything was still quiet, except for the buzz of the orchestra arranging their stuff on the stage, tuning and retuning, running over passages for the hundredth time. I sat meekly in the back and watched all this, tiny as an ant on a hill.

I felt so insignificant as I looked up and around, bewilderedly. The concert hall was very different from the sleek, modern structures I'd been to in Japan. The lavish gold sculptures of naked nymphs peered down at me from the balconys on either side, flanked by red velvet curtains; the immense, tall building opened up like a column, making the acoustics drastically different, as well.

As people started to arrive, about an hour later, after the orchestra had started the beginnings of the movements and done a few last-minute things, I made my way to the seat on my ticket. It happened to be toward the front, center, which gave me a warm, tingly feeling, that Len had chosen such a seat for me...or had fanagled his manager into arranging it for me. The hall slowly filled, right to the back, as the orchestra entered and took their seats on stage.

Apprehension started to creep up through my stomach as Len and the conductor entered. Somehow, I felt nervous for him, but wasn't that silly? Look at him, that hard, determined look on his face; he has already mastered this work, and right now it's the only thing on his mind. If I were on stage, wouldn't I be thinking about the people watching, and what they thought about my performance?

But that's the wrong attitude, isn't it...

A hush fell over the audience, as the lighting dimmed, and the conductor, standing in front with his baton folded in his arms, stood with his head bent, ruminating, and the orchestra at attention, waiting for his command.

At last he looked up, lifted the baton, and, with a quick stroke, cued in the first bars.

The sound filled the huge hall, soft strings like feathers, and then the insistent drumming of the bass working up the tension...and then, Len lifted his violin and bow, there, confident, anticipant, and...

A miraculous sound emitted from the Guaneri, something not born of horsehair and metal strings, alien from the aged wood, seperate from the world, like a call from heaven. So different from when he played for me, more dramatic, more urgent! I understood, in his music, the feeling that had been stirring in me, ever since we kissed, and here he was, giving it to the world to view!

I heard the murmers of the people next to me, eyes open in surprise, leaning forward in their seats, wondering, perhaps not even aware of the meaning, but feeling the earnest desire.

The orchestra and the conductor complied with the sound, crescendoing more than I knew the piece originally intended, feeling his erratic rubato, mixing in and supplementing. Do you understand what he means? Do you realize how direct his sound is, drawing from his feelings, and yet unconcious of anything but the need to produce that music?

Because I do. And I want to make it, too. Is it possible?

The first movement came to a close, and the perfect silence afterwards, as the audience took a collective breath none of us had realized we were holding, was rent suddenly as, way in the back, four or five school-aged children began applauding loudly, standing on their feet, leaning over the chairs of the people in front of them. I closed my eyes in sympathy as the rest of the audience looked back, grinning, and the back of the conductor, still holding his baton up in a clear, "We are about to move on" gesture, tensed in annoyance.

And then Len smiled.

The audience took their cue from the kids, and leapt to their feet, applauding, laughing, crying, clapping loudly, victoriously! Cautiously, I rose as well, and joined them.

The end of the second movement was the same. Everyone rose, everyone applauded, and even the conductor turned around and bowed.

It took five minutes for the third movement to begin. The orchestra began where they had left off in the second movement, suddenly, and then Len's solo, heavy and dark, even to the pizzicato. It continued like that, an outstanding force of technique and sheer power, but laced to the core with a feeling even I hadn't heard before. He had already progressed this much, and where was I? When I had free time, was I thinking of improving, of practicing and getting better?

I slunk down in my seat amid the sounds of oboes and horns, hunching my shoulders in embarrasment. Did I really have the nerve to say I loved music, when I wasted so much time, chatting with friends, and daydreaming about Len and...

.

The final notes were still ringing through my head as I tried to sleep that night, in the room across from Len, who had arrived back at the hotel a couple of hours after I, waiting in vain, took a taxi back (all by myself!) So many people had wanted to talk to him, and the excitement on his face, subtle though it was, shone through. I couldn't interrupt, and I was frankly too embarassed, even when I heard his footsteps on the marble outside my door, to answer to his quiet, "Kahoko? Are you still awake?"

I stared up at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, while thoughts raced through my head, chasing each other like the stars in their slow journey across the sky.

Len was so very, very far ahead of me in violin. I'd already known that, of course, but it hadn't actually come home until I watched him, from the audience, so very small among so many other people, and he was all the way up there, standing in front of the orchestra with the conductor, playing the concerto! He had perfected his technique to a level that I couldn't even touch; his bow knew exactly where it was going, his fingers knew exactly what pitches they were at. The highest notes, in a millionth position on the E strings, rang clear like bells, and the low notes on the G carried weight as though they were tangible. It was incredible.

How did I even think to compare to that?

And why me, Len? Why did you bring me with you, here, to Europe, and smile at me so kindly, and say sweet things to me, while to everyone else you are so cold and like a brick wall? I remembered his kiss, burning with passion like a fire so hot that it doesn't even burst into flame, just glows orange and vaporizes anything that touches it.

And what do I do, having been chosen? I am not your equal. I cannot stand on the same stage as you, and for all my practicing, I never will. Well then, what am I good for? Surely there must be a role I can fulfil. Do I continue with music, aiming for a career, and even then, what career? Teaching? An orchestra? They seem to bland for the girl that you've chosen, if you really have chosen me. What do I do to prepare myself for you?

I sighed and got out of bed, the brick floor prickling my feet coldly. The air was cold, even through the cotton t-shirt and long pants I wore. I slipped out of my room and walked down the long corridor of the hotel restlessly, like a ghost, and made my way to the large window at the far end. It looked out over St. Peter's Basillica, the pillars lit along the bottom of the great path they drew around the cathedral.

Christianity was a weird thing. I'd noticed these churches, painted and gaudy with golden challises and chandeliers, at practically every corner, full of the smell of insence and the sound of chants. What was so different about them than the temples back home? People came and were silent, praying or thinking, and the form of Christ or Mary the Virgin in front like the Buddhas behind the screens. Every culture gave its best art to the worship of its deities. I could almost worship in such a place, if I believed that it would help anything.

I turned and walked soundlessly back to my room. I reached into my pocket for the key. Nothing. The other one. Crap.

I turned the handle just in case I hadn't actually locked it. No good.

As I saw it, there were two options: stay out in the cold hall all night long, or knock on Len's door. I was too cranky at the moment to think about the consequences of him having arrived back so late, or to remember my earlier misgivings. So, I think you can guess which of my aforestated options I carried through with.

I rapped my knuckles on the thick wooden door. "Len, are you awake?"

Groan. "I am now."

"I couldn't sleep, and now I'm stuck outside my room."

"Well done."

"Be nice. Let me in."

I heard him mutter under his breath, stride across the room, and open the door. For a minute, he just stood there with his head poking out the doorway, a disgruntled look on his face.

"You're decent. Okay. Come in."

He opened the door and closed it behind me, and stood there in his (rather brief) pajamas, arms crossed and foot tapping. "Exactly how did you manage to lock yourself out of your room?"

"Well, I couldn't sleep..."

"I thought you were asleep when I got back. Why didn't you answer?"

Segway necessary! "...so I got up and looked out at the city, and thought about Catholicism or something like that and...*yawn* Now I am sleepy."

He chewed the inside of his lip, which was uncharacteristic, and then walked over, climbed into bed, and patted the other side. "Get in and don't move too much."

"What?"

"Oi, do you want me to throw you out into the hall again?"

"No. Coming, coming."

I slipped under the covers, which were still warm from where he'd been sleeping minutes ago. The side he was on now must be freezing. How thoughtful of him.

"Don't peep under the covers."

"Eh?"

"I'm tired as heck, but it doesn't keep me from getting turned on."

"Aaah..." I blushed and faced away from him. I heard him turn over on his side.

"Len."

"What is it now?"

"Why did you bring me here with you to Europe?"

"...Why are you asking such things at this hour?"

"No reason. I couldn't sleep because I kept thinking about it."

"Great, now I can't sleep."

"Sorry."

"You're going to be." I heard him turn over and I turned to face him. Our noses touched as we did so, and I gasped and scooted back an inch or so.

"Kahoko."

"Hm?"

"What you're really asking is, 'Why did you choose me when you could have had any girl?', isn't it?"

"..."

"I thought so." He reached out slowly and brushed a lock of hair from my eyes. "Do you realize what waiting for someone on the other side of the world, for almost two long years, does to a man? Do you know how many sleepless nights I've spent, wanting to see you again?"

My breath, dear Reader, had completely ceased by now, and then he moved forward until our noses were rubbing alongside each other, and I could feel the moisture of his breath on my lips. "Do you have any idea what I'm feeling right now? How much I want...you...oh, God, this is hard." He pulled away, but I caught hold of his hand as it was leaving my face and interlaced our fingers. "Stop that."

"Why?" I pulled his hand back to my cheek.

"You're making it hard enough on me as it is. I ought to teach you a lesson."

"Go ahead, Sensei."

He got an animalistic sort of gleam in his eye, through the dark room, and suddenly he pinned my hand above my head and shifted so that his upper body was poised above me and one of his legs was pressing alongside mine.

The seconds ticked by silently, like the pause between movements of a symphony.

I looked up at him, into his amber eyes, feeling his bangs touching my forehead, unresistent, willing, ready.

"Fortunately for you," he said, sighing, as he released me and rolled back over to his side of the bed, "I'm dead tired. I couldn't try anything right now if I wanted to. So go to sleep."

"Len."

"WHAT."

"I'm not scared."

"Of me, of what I could do to you, or of the ghosts that supposedly haunt this room?"

"Eh? This room is haunted?"

"That was sarcasm."

"Of anything. I don't need you to treat me like a child."

"You're not ready. I'm not ready. Go to sleep already, or I will throw you out into the hall."

"I'm ready."

"OI. This is hard enough as it is, you, there, lying next to me, exactly how do you think I feel? Do you think I don't want to do something? Kahoko, give me a break. It's not fair for you to act that submissive."

"At least give me a goodnight kiss?"

"Absolutely not."

"Please?"

"It can wait until morning."

"Stingy."

"You don't have any clue."

"Fine, but I get gelato for breakfast."

I heard him chuckle, though his back was definitely toward me by now. "That I can do. Not another word out of you, young lady."

I stuck my tongue out at him, but the bed was soft and warm, and I was sleepy, after all...

Just as I started to drift off into cloudy dreams, I felt Len lean over, very softly, and whisper, "Ne, Kahoko. I'm sorry about earlier, okay? Sleep well."

**Author's Notes: **Hm...too sexual? Sorry...I feel like they (or rather, I, as the author) are rushing things but...well, anyway, so here you go, and more to come later!


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16: D dur

When I woke the following morning, the first thought was, naturally, Where am I? Then I remembered the previous night and smiled bitter-sweetly.

The next thought was, Where is Len, and why is his manager standing over the bed with an extremely cross look on her face?

"LEN TSUKIMORI! COME OUT AND EXPLAIN THIS!" Is what, I think, she said, in Austrian-German. The reason for the capitals has as much to do with the fact that German always sounds like you're in trouble, as well as the volume.

Len emerged from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand and an adorable bit of toothpaste scum on his chin. "Yes? You've brought coffee?" he said, I think, very calmly.

What followed was in very rapid German, but Len explained it to me afterwards.

Apparently there are rules for being an attractive young violin virtuoso, and having young ladies in your bed is breaking one of them, unless you do not have the slightest amount of interest in said lady. I did not belong in that category, and his manager was well aware of it. There were explanations on his side, and threats on hers, and the long and short of it was that she was rebooking our hotels so that mine would be on one side of town, and his would be on the other. Which meant that if I got locked out of my room again, I was out of luck.

But for now, I happily enjoyed the sunlight dipping in through the windows and lighting up the light wood of the small table at which Len and I, already dressed and ready for the day, sans a little dignity on my part, sat and ate an Italian-style breakfast.

"What is this?" I asked, wrinkling my nose as I spread some of the cheese on the toast. Lifting it to my mouth, I felt a little less motivated to eat it, and set it back down on the plate. The pink-and-yellow flower pattern of the dishes and red checked table cloth seemed completely incongruous with the season.

"It's called Gorgonzola cheese," Len answered, adding milk to his tiny cup of espresso and sipping at it.

"It smells worse than natto."

"That's because you're not used to it. Try it, it's delicious."

"I think I'll pass." I imitated him and added a dainty amount of milk and sugar to my coffee, which smelled amazing, and took a hearty gulp of it before choking and setting the cup back down. "That's...so strong! What in the world? Do they actually drink coffee like this all the time?"

Len's eyes, which had been looking a little annoyed since getting chewed out by his manager that morning, took on a twinkle of amusement. "Like it?"

"Weeell..." I had to admit that the flavor was amazing, for all it felt like shoving a brick down my throat. "Now I understand why the cups are so tiny," I said. Then I sighed and looked out the window, barred with thick, rounded iron that it was. Out on the streets, under the stained and cracked walls, people were passing, so quickly and determinedly. I missed Japan like crazy. I missed knowing the language, of course, and the habitual politeness, and the manicured trees and moss gardens and...

"So the concert is over," Len said, interrupting my thoughts. "It's Christmas, so I thought I'd take the day off. Do you mind if I borrow some of your time today?"

Do I mind! "I suppose not."

"Good. In that case, I'm going to make a quick call. Would you excuse me for a couple of minutes, please?"

I think Len starts off cold in the mornings and warms up by evening. Although, it's possible that his crispness right now was more due to irritation at being yelled at during a delicate hour of the morning than anything else. I felt a little guilty about the night before. If his manager had come in, and we had done something, it would have been quite a bit more obvious and embarassing. Still, I had to admit that now that I was awake (VERY awake, thanks to the espresso), I felt a little humiliated. I'd acted pretty shamelessly, now that I thought of it. I'm female. I knew what effect I might have on him, asking to sleep with him. Had I locked my keys in my room on purpose, from the half-awake instinct that you get when you can't quite get to sleep at night, the kind that gives you all your best ideas and inspirations? Well, it didn't matter now. No danger of anything like that happening on the rest of this trip.

"Okay, it's settled," Len said, coming back into the room and settling down into his chair. "Eat your breakfast. We'll be going on a drive today."

I narrowed my eyes at the suspicious, now rather gooey looking contraption on my plate. It looked back at me squatly, daring me to eat it.

"You promised me gelato, remember?"

"Only if you take two bites of that bread."

"A promise is a promise."

He sighed. "Fine, gelato first." Len always gives in to me. Except about midnight kisses, apparently.

.

"So, where are we going?" I asked, happily licking the lazily dripping ice cream as we wound our way through the Christmas crowds who, despite the dearth of open stores, were nevertheless travelling to see friends and family.

Len, who was not eating any gelato, and had said something about the weather to the ice-cream server which had made her laugh, said grimly, "We're going to go rent a car, and then drive out to the countryside in Tuscany. It'll be a bit of a long drive."

"Oh." I looked around, suddenly aware of the huge smiles that would break out on the faces of people who met acquaintances on the streets, laughing and exchanging greetings. A middle-aged man a couple of doors up cheerfully kissed the cheeks of a young lady my age, who laughed and started chatting loudly and emphatically. Three boys just up ahead were walking lightly along, shoving each other to try to make the one closest to the curb fall into the gutter, and passing in the opposite direction was an elderly lady who smiled widely and said something to Len, who gave a gentle smile back and responded. I'd never seen him smile that sincerely before, and it touched my heart.

The sunlight was still coming down, but clouds were also beginning to form above, of a deepness of gray which promised rain, particularly to the north. "Are you sure it'll be okay, driving in the rain?" I asked, a little worried. Italian roads were tiny enough as they were, and crazy crowded.

Len shrugged. "It shouldn't be a problem. Especially with the car I have in mind." He smiled, and I felt a certain apprehension from that smile. There was a peculiar gleam which I'd never seen before. How many moments like that had happened in the last month? I had the feeling a lot more had changed about him than his height since he'd begun studies abroad.

I understood that mysterious gleam, at least, once Len was standing on the right side, holding the low, red door open for me.

"You rented a Lambourgini? You're kidding me, right?"

"Nope."

Clearly, being an internationally-known, albeit young, musician had its perks. But...

"You want _me_ to drive?" I squeaked. He gave me an irritated look.

"No."

"But the right side..."

"...is the driver's side. In Japan."

"Oh, yeah." I hadn't yet gotten used to the switch. Every time I saw two cars driving at each other from opposite sides of the street, I had to stifle the impulse to leap out and scream, "You're going to crash! Watch out!"

I stepped in, feeling slightly out of place among the smooth leather and plush seats, rounded control panel and aerodynamic interior. Len entered on the other side, and worked his way out of the city to the smooth humming of the engine. Have I mentioned that Italian drivers are crazy? In Japan, we wait in patient lines, just like anyone else, for traffic lights, and pedestrians, etc. Here, they scoot in at the closest opportunity. There are so many unspoken rules, where you honk and don't honk, when you stop two feet away from the old lady that's crossing, when you let the other driver pass or when you get around him, that I just sat mutely as Len maneuvered his way, very expertly, I might add, and we finally found the country road.

The rain began to pelt down against the glass, where we sat inside snugly, and to the rhythmic pulse of the windshield wipers, I counted four-four measures absentmindedly, gazing out the window. The land darkened as it got damp, then wet; plaster-and-brick walls muddying in patches, puddles forming in the potholes on the road, all the winter-bound plants lifting their faces to meet the clouds above.

Flap, flap, flap, flap. Len's face was completely passive, where it watched the road, both hands firmly but relaxedly handling the steering wheel, shoulders straight but sloped, eyes watching carefully, and his face lighting in moving shadows as the headlights of passing cars splashed to our left. The land was dark, and so was the sky, pressing down on us, safe in the car.

He took a turn off the main road at last, passing through an ancient stone overpass, and the road narrowed even more, fewer cars passing, the sides of the buildings built right next to the road. Here, the road was even less maintained, and got narrower and wider like a side-winding desert snake, the road signs warning of 30 km, whereas Len continued to take the curves and all at 60.

"Ready? Here's where it gets fun," he said, putting one arm casually around the back of my seat, and through the semi-darkness I could read his expression. It said, Danger and Speed, Thrill and Excitement. It occurred to me that this may be his only outlet, little roads like these, here and elsewhere in Europe, where he could forget the critical words of his master, and the constant hovering of his manager, and be like a cageless skylark.

As the road took on an incredibly steep range, narrowed to the width of only one car, sometimes barely that, and began to introduce crazy turns, all with the mountain on one side and the valley on the other, I really started to get scared.

"Len, are you sure we should be taking these turns like...AAAUGH!"

He just laughed as he coolly skirted the hairpin turn at 40 km, one arm still around the back of my seat. We continued to climb, me biting my lip and shutting my eyes as the tires ate gravel along the side of the road, and the smoke peeling off behind as he switched into a lower gear and fed the accelerator.

I looked down, watching the valley begin to disappear and the hills multiply. The clouds were quickly passing on, letting up the rain, and the sun began to spill out in straight, glowing beams upon the land.

We crested the top, finally, and I let out a breath of relief, though he continued to drive fast, along the level but curving road, on and on. Below, now that I could see everything clearly, the poplar trees lined the driveways of large, old houses, clinging stubbornly to their large plots of land, commanding acres of olive orchards and the cleared remains of vineyards. It astounded me how much space there was for people to live in. One house would stand on its own hill, and the next would be way over there; yet, as we passed through old villages that stretched along the road, miles long and mere meters wide, I noticed people standing outside the bars and closed up shops, not even bothering to go inside, just waiting outside for people they knew to pass by to strike up a casual conversation.

"Why are all the stores closed?" I asked him, as we drove through the middle of one of these towns. When the shops were closed, they meant it. They drew down the metal doors and locked them firmly, all set against the thick, yellow, plastered walls and green Venetian shutters.

"Italian stores aren't open all the time, at least not out here in the country," Len said. "Even the grocery stores are only open in the morning and a couple of hours in the evening. They buy their food for dinner everyday, just like we do, but they do it on their way home from work, so the shops don't bother to be open while people are away. Besides that, it's Christmas, after all."

How very strange. This, a world that slept not only at night.

We wound out of the little village, and, out in the open road, Len suddenly pulled the car off the road and, reaching into the backseat for my violin, handed it to me before grabbing his own.

"Let's go."

"What?"

We got out of the car and looked down at the clear valley. The land was all grey and silver; the sunlight twinkled off the glistening leaves of the neatly lined olive trees, and the bent, dead grass reflected its rays. All the trunks of nearby trees were coated with several varieties of moss and lichen, from vivid green to dark gray, but all taking on a muted shade of silver.

Len rested one foot on the thick, low, moss-veined stone wall that guarded the side of this curve of the road, and gazed at me as I looked out on the valley, at the mountains that seemed to go on and on forever, before fading into the cloudy horizon, as though we weren't close to any civilization at all, let alone a city beyond. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's breathtaking," I said, without exaggerating in the slightest. I closed my eyes and listened to the birds, singing like mad in the aftermath of the rain.

He was also thinking about them, I think, as he set his old case down on the wall and pulled out the Guanerius. "You know the piece we practiced together?" he asked, beginning to tune already.

"Yes," I said, imitating him with my instrument.

"Now."

"Yes."

We lifted our violins, and, in one breath, set our bows to the strings, beginning the slow, smooth notes of Delibes' "Flower Duet". Originally set for two sopranos, from the opera Lakmé, the duet rang sweetly as though human voices sang it, between our two violins. With my ringing upper part, and his gripping lower part, we let the notes wind like the road, and twirl like the sweetness of the birdsong, and float like the sunshine. The voices of our violins, which should have been lost in the neverending immensity of the valleys, instead filled them, and made them sing with us, as though we were a part of them, and them of us, and we with our violins and each other.

As the last notes vibrated away and our bows lifted off like an indrawn breath, the hour ended, and several sets of church bells began, all at once, melding with each other in their untuned, untimed consonance, and as they did so, Len leaned over, taking my face in his right hand, still holding onto the bow, and kissed me, slowly and deeply. I scarcely noticed the feel of the horsehair that brushed my ear as I melted into him, violin and all.

We parted, after what seemed like breathless ages, and just stared at each other, overcome by the perfectness of the situation. Len's eyes were clear, and bright; I could see myself in them, the most enjoyable mirror in the world.

"I've waited two years to do this," he said, "and like a dream, it's come true."

There is a line somewhere that says, "If music be the food of love, play on." I wasn't ready to stop playing. I lifted my violin, and, in unspoken agreement, we began "Ave Maria."

Why is the song so special? Surely the notes are beautiful, surely they offer emotion and sweep on before us like momiji leaves that fall and blow in the wind, but so many songs may offer the same benefits. But for us, this was our song. It had begun our "special" connection, and it carried it on. Whenever there was a moment in which emotion could not be expressed with words, this one communicated everything to each other. We played our Christmas "Ave Maria", and then we put away our violins and drove back down the mountain.

The dream had come true, but we had to wake up, and go back to the real world, where music is judged for things other than beauty and emotion, and where we stand, vulnerable and transparent, on a stage, and sell our feelings, or else we are snubbed as being too "cool" and "having technique but lacking sensitivity". There is only so long, as you well know, wise Reader, that a musician can do that, before the audience becomes one's enemy or one's lover. It is inevitable, because the world sees our naked heart, day after day, paying for expensive tickets to observe it, poured out, there, under the bright lights, for these people that we know are there but can't see.

For those few brief moments, however, we were each other's only audience.

.

I wasn't ready to leave Italy yet, but it was already time.

"Do you need me to hold your hand again?" Len asked sarcastically as we entered the terminal to LA.

"No," I answered, slightly miffed at his tone of voice. "I'm eighteen, you know."

"Sure you are," he said with a slight smirk, passing a glance over my head to where, by the heavy breathing, I felt sure his manager was lurking. "Definitely old enough to, say, not lock yourself out of your room at night. Ne," he lowered his voice and leaned forward, as a slightly concerned look took over, "are you sure you'll be okay tomorrow night?"

No. Yes. No. "I'm sure."

"Okay. Ready for LA?" He passed his keen gaze over the plane that was lining up outside the huge window. Without waiting for my reply, he started to stuff a couple of packages that I'd bought in Italy (mostly clothes) into some free space in his luggage. Where the heck does he find extra space, anyway? My suitcase felt like it was about to burst already.

Definitely not ready for LA. "I'm looking forward to seeing Hihara-sempai, though," I answered.

"Though?"

Oops. "I mean, I'm really looking forward to seeing Hihara-sempai. It seems like forever since the last time I saw him! Do you talk to him often?"

"Passengers in rows 80-40, please prepare for boarding..." came the voice of the announcer up front.

"Once in a while," Len answered as we hoisted our luggage and walked to stand in line. "I suppose it would be more accurate to point out that 99% of the time, he calls and bothers me until I give him some details."

I laughed a little, thinking about Hihara's cheerful smiles and teasing ways. His girlfriend...Alice, was it?...was a lucky girl.

And rather pretty, too, I found myself thinking, fourteen bleary hours later, as Len and I found our green-haired friend waving cheerfully to us at the exit to the street. Despite the fact that LAX was INSANELY crowded, with the cars outside zipping by and scarcely stopping, we spotted him right away.

And Alice!

"Konichiwa, Hino Kahoko desu," I said, politely bowing to the petite, red-haired young lady in the bottle-green knit dress next to Hihara-sempai.

"Konichiwa, Kaho-chan! Alice desu. Yoroshiku one...onegaishimasu!" she said, in her American accent, and bowing as an afterthought. The freckles on her nose scrunched up as she laughed, and her vivid green eyes sparkled. Her entire face was like a lamp; besides being bright itself, it lit up everything around her, too. I noticed that Hihara-sempai, a full head-and-shoulders higher than her, seemed to be radiating the same sort of feeling. More than usual, I mean.

My mouth opened slightly in surprise as she introduced herself in the first Japanese I'd heard from anyone but Len in the last four days, and I looked up at Hihara-sempai, who laughed. "I've been teaching her a little bit of Japanese, here and there," he told me. "Yokoso, Kaho-chan! I'm so excited that you've made it to LA! And you, too, Tsukimori," he said, passing his smile to Len, who seemed to have revived his "I am a Stoic cyborg" attitude and merely nodded.

Hihara-sempai turned and said something in English to Alice, who bowed to Len, too. Len answered back in English. Grr...getting tired of this, people!

"Well," Hihara-sempai said at last, as introductions waned and the silence grew awkward, "Can I take your things, Kaho-chan? I assume you can carry yours, Tsukimori," he said with a wink to Len.

Unruffled, the latter replied, "Of course. You have a car ready?"

"Yes." He and Alice began to lead the way out onto the crowded terminal drive-through.

"Eh? We aren't going to take a train?" I asked, as Hihara-sempai opened the trunk of a large Honda and stuffed our stuff into it.

"Nope. You wouldn't believe how weird the train system is around here," he answered. The four of us piled into the car, Alice up front and Len and me in the back.

"What do you mean?"

"People in LA aren't hugely fond of public transport," he answered, weaving out into the traffic carefully. "It's slow, late, and not as clean. More like, the only people who use it are those who can't afford cars. The impoverished, the Hispanic population, the 'slightly off'..."

"Now I understand why everything's so crowded," I sighed, looking out at the masses of cars heaped on the four lanes out to the freeway. "Geez...why is that?"

Alice said something to Hihara-sempai, who passed back to me, "Alice would like to know if you two want to join us for dinner tonight. I have to warn you, though, that it'll most likely be pizza or hamburgers at Alice's parent's house. Are you okay with that?"

"Um, sure!" I answered, "That sounds great!" I smiled up through the rearview mirror at Alice, who smiled and said back to me, "Yokatta! Tanoshimini desu!" Len just rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever. We're pretty famished, so anything will taste good."

"Great! And tomorrow morning you have rehearsal, yes?"

"Yes. And that evening is the recital, correct?"

"Sure a short stay!" Hihara-sempai sighed. "I wish we could hang out more, Kaho-chan. But tomorrow, while Tsukimori is doing boring things like arguing over where the microphones should be placed, Alice and I will take you out to see a little more of LA. Oh, and there's a ballet going on at the Royce Hall. I've already seen it, but I want you to see it, too."

I have to admit that the prospect of more sightseeing, after the last crazy four days, didn't seem appealing. But you're only in America once, I suppose...

"I'm looking forward to it!" I answered with a cheerful smile, and Hihara-sempai grinned at me from behind the steering wheel.

Alice said something suddenly and reached to jerk the steering wheel to the right. A second later a car veered past our left so fast that I gasped. Hihara-sempai looked shocked for a bit, but then he gave a self-deprecating laugh and thanked Alice.

Hm. Maybe I preferred Len's driving after all.

An hour later, we pulled into a tidy circle of symmetrical stucco-and-clay tile houses, with tiny, vivid-green lawns lined with rose bushes behind wide concrete sidewalks, and up a driveway, indistinguishable from any of the other houses.

As Alice and Len went ahead into the house, Alice chatting animatedly and Len offering polite but terse answers, Hihara-sempai suddenly stopped and pulled me into a very quick hug.

"I'm so glad to see you again, Kaho-chan," he said as he released me.

"You, too, Hihara-sempai."

"Ready?"

"Okay!"

And we followed Alice and Len over the colorful rug at the threshold.

That was the last time Hihara-sempai and I saw eye-to-eye.

**Author's Notes: **

Right, to my younger audience: Did I mention this fic is, or will become, a bit more on the "mature" side? It still applies, so be prepared if you want to continue. Ideals are one thing, but reality is another. Nevertheless, as I said before, there will be nothing explicit content-wise. Definitely not mature enough for an "M" rating, but nevertheless...

Sorry if you're disappointed, but I am no spinner of fairy-tales.

Also...did I forget to mention last chapter that the work Len played was Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto? It was in my mind when I was writing it, but I think I forgot to actually state it...

Translations:

Hino Kahoko desu: I'm Hino Kahoko

Yoroshiku onegaishimasu: Please treat me well in future encounters

Yokoso: welcome


	17. Chapter 17

Movement 17: B dur

**Author's warning:** This is more of what I'm talking about with the "mature content". This is based on how I think these particular characters would react to this situation, and accepting certain stereotypes. My intention is not to offend or convince anyone of one view point or another. But this is all important for what happens later in the story.

.

There are things that you don't realize until after the fact. Like the rug on the threshhold of the door of Alice's parent's house that read, "God bless this house." Or the little plaque above the dining room table that said, "My cup overflows..." Or the large family Bible on the coffee table in the living room.

I, who could not read English, and wouldn't have understood the implications if I did, was blissfully ignorant. Len, on the otherhand, and for a reason I couldn't understand at the time, was beginning to get more and more uncomfortable with every passing moment, even as Alice's parents greeted us with smiles that would have put shopkeepers in Japan to shame, and politely asked us to sit down and got us glasses of water (Water? Not tea?). In their caring presence, I felt myself feeling a little more relaxed, as I hadn't since we'd arrived in Italy. The house was clean and full of bright lights and cheerful, floral designs on the curtains and tableware.

Why was Len so tense?

I have to admit that during that first dinner, where there were indeed hamburgers and a couple of dishes that Hihara-sempai told me were called "coleslaw" and "potato salad", I just sat there mutely and smiled cheerfully, especially at Alice, who seemed to have a sweet innocence about her that drew you to her immediately.

I watched the expressions of the others at the table. Alice's mother was as tiny as her daughter, with greying brown hair and plenty of smile wrinkles; she seemed to constantly be getting up to get the rest of us food and dessert and whatever else she thought we wanted. Alice's father was tall and slightly portly, but with a noble look on his face and the same Irish features as his daughter. He and Hihara-sempai seemed to get on very well, although I could tell from Len's face that they were barraging him with questions, and he wasn't altogether happy about them. From time to time, Alice and her mother would get concerned expressions on their faces, but managed to make them disappear.

All this, and I felt forgotten in my seat, next to Len. The conversation was moving so rapidly that there wasn't time for either of my friends to translate for me.

But at least the food was good. The hamburgers had been cooked on the grill outside and were juicy and tender. The sidedishes, which you may never have had before, were creamy, a little odd, but flavorful nonetheless. I happily set in to them, and when Alice's mother brought out coffee and chocolate cake, it mattered a little less that Len had leaned back in the chair and folded his arms in his tell-tale defensive position.

After dinner and coffee (considerably weaker than the Italian version, and lots of cream and sugar), we played some card game which I was bad enough at that I had to wonder if Hihara-sempai was translating the rules for me wrong on purpose. The tension lifted somewhat, but I noticed some hardening lines around the corners of Len's mouth, and his brows came together startlingly.

We said goodbye before it was too late, and, Alice waving cheerfully with her parents from the doorway, Hihara-sempai packed the two of us into the car and we drove off.

There was a heavy silence which I attempted to break once or twice, but gave up eventually, as we merged into the mellowing traffic along the dark freeway, gaps of light from the high, bright streetlamps breaking up the black night, and the bright lights of the city ushering us ahead.

"I wish you'd warned me ahead of time," Len finally said abruptly, up in the front seat, crossing his arms and not looking at Hihara-sempai.

The latter sighed softly. "It's not a big deal. It's just a different religion. Surely you've had enough of Western religion in Europe?"

"It's different over there. People don't attempt to proseltyse you every other word of the conversation."

"They didn't mean to pressure you."

"They weren't doing a good job of it."

Hihara-sempai sighed again, less softly. "Look, I know Christianity has a bad rep in Japan. It's not a pretty history. But can't we just leave that behind?"

"I'm fine with leaving it behind if they just don't try to change us." Len looked sharply over and tried to catch Hihara-sempai's gaze for the first time since dinner. "And you?"

"We're here," I commented, noticing the huge neon sign outside the hotel that matched up with the name Len had given me. I felt rather proud of myself that I'd managed to decipher the English enough to recognize it.

"I'll see you tomorrow," said Len, giving me a small peck on the forehead as he collected his bags from the back seat. I switched to the passenger seat (on the right) up front with Hihara-sempai, and watched Len stalking into the lobby of the hotel.

"Are you not staying in the same hotel?" Hihara-sempai asked, pulling out of the hotel driveway and going back onto the streets of LA downtown.

"Nope. Apparently Len's manager is against it," I said, gazing out the window at the wide streets and tall buildings.

"Geez," Hihara-sempai said, whistling slightly, as I stated the address of the hotel I'd be staying at for the night. "Tsukimori's manager was serious about not having you two stay in the same hotel. Not that I blame her," he added cautiously, and I tilted my head slightly in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know how Tsukimori's is in Beverly Hills, right? Well...believe it or not, Los Angeles is a big place, Kaho-chan. It just so happens that your hotel is on the opposite side of town."

"Oh." Meh.

"Which is an hour away."

What? "Seriously?"

"Yup. So settle in. We've got a long drive ahead."

I sighed as I looked out the window, at the passing palm tree lined strip malls, the long metal guards along the road, the hundreds of double headlights going in either direction, more spaced out than that afternoon, but still packing the roads. Not that I minded a long drive with Hihara-sempai, of course. After all, it had been ages since the last time I'd seen him.

"Ne, Hihara-sempai?"

"Mm?"

"How did you and Alice meet?"

"Eto...it's a bit of a long story!" he answered, laughing.

"It's a long drive."

"Sou da ne! Well, you know how we're both going to UCLA, right? Actually, the ballet hall is there, so I'll get to introduce you to the campus. Anyway, Alice's parents really wanted her to attend a university called Biola, but she chose UCLA because of career choices."

"What's her major?"

"Primary education. You should see her with kids, Kaho-chan. She's terrific."

I smiled, thinking about Alice's cheerful smile and her patient expression. She did seem like she would fit that role nicely.

"Turns out that we ended up in class together...for both of our worst subject, Critical Thinking and Problem Solving."

"Eh? What's that?"

"Basically math story problems."

"Uh..." The very thought made me feel a bit sick. "Sounds like something Tsuchiura-kun would be good at..."

Hihara-sempai interrupted his story long enough to give me a sharp look. "How's he doing, now that you and Tsukimori are together?"

I shrugged, hopefully nonchallantly. "Okay, I guess. Why would it matter that Len and I are together? Oi, watch the road!" He veered quickly back into his lane as an annoyed driver behind honked. "So you and Alice."

He was not to be deterred. "I imagine he was disappointed."

Oh, you should have seen his eyes... "Not really. He just said something like, 'Well, I hope you'll be able to deal with that iceberg, Hino!' or something like that."

What the...did I just lie? Seriously, Kahoko? I felt my stomach twist and my face flush.

Fortunately, Hihara-sempai was too busy concentrating on the road to notice. "That's a little surprising, honestly...Anyway. So Alice and I got paired up together during the first class for a project. Between me being bad at English, and both of us sucking at the subject altogether, we contrived to completely mess up the problem and earn a lovely 'F'." He laughed carefreely as he continued to unroll his romance story like a Turkish rug. "After that, we started to meet up after class and moan about how bad it was. Then we started to study together, and she invited me to her Bible study..."

"Eh? What's that?"

"A church group that meets during the week."

"Sounds interesting."

"Well..." He thought for a minute about what to say, and then, hesitatingly, he said, "I don't really know how to describe it. These people really try to live a good life, you know? You can tell that they're trying to take care of people, and help out the poor and..."

"...And believe in God or whatever?"

"...Yeah. It seems weird at first. But it actually starts to make sense after awhile, you know?"

I thought about the way Len looked during dinner. I started to understand. "Hihara-sempai, you don't actually believe all that, do you?"

"Yes."

His answer was so direct that my mind recoiled for a minute. "But...but...what about your family?" I spluttered. "When you return to Japan, nobody will understand, and it'll spoil everything. What about festivals and shrine visits? And offering food and stuff to ancestors? Don't Christians frown on that sort of thing?"

"Kaho-chan, this is worth it."

"I don't believe you. You'll change your mind when you come home."

"I'm not sure when that will be."

I gasped. "You're not serious...Hihara-sempai! Are you actually thinking about immigrating to America?"

"Considering, yes. I don't know yet. It really depends on Alice. She might decide to move back with me to Japan, for 'ministry' purposes."

Pause while a cold chill ran down my back. Then, "You're really serious about her, aren't you?"

"Aren't you serious about Tsukimori?"

"Well, yeah, but that's different, we're both Nipponjin and..."

He sighed as he scooted back a little further in his seat, resting his head against the head cushion. He scratched his shoulder absentmindedly as he continued to gaze out the window, frowning slightly.

The air between us was already considerably different. Heavier. Had I lost a friend?

"Hihara-sempai..."

"I'm sorry, Kaho-chan," he said, regretfully. "I know that this is all hard. But...at the same time, I kinda worry about you. And Tsukimori."

"You really don't have to," I said, miffed, and looked back out the window. We were silent until he dropped me off at the (considerably less fancy) hotel, and he quietly spoke to the receptionist before carrying my luggage up to my room.

"I'll be by tomorrow about 8 to pick you up," he said finally, as I stood in my room and him on the other side of the open door. "Will you be okay until then?"

"Yes," I answered, shortly. "Good night, Hihara-sempai."

"Good night, Kaho-chan."

I closed the door even before he walked away, and bit my lip as I leaned against the inside of the door. Kaho-chan. How familiar he was still being.

.

"Eh? This is UCLA? Wow, what a campus!" I exclaimed the next day, as I viewed the tree-lined lawns between the buildings. It was a lot prettier than the college back home, that was for sure. I smiled at Alice, who smiled her sunny way back at me.

"Kore wa...suteki desu ne?" she said, and I nodded vigorously. "Honto ni kirei desu!" I said. Then I turned to Hihara-sempai. "Where's the concert hall?"

He pointed at a tall tan building with double towers to either side of large arched doors. "The ballet we'll be seeing is called 'Le Sacre du Printemps'," he said.

"Eh? Translation?"

"Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring'."

"Ooh..." I nodded gravely and tried to act as though I was already very well acquainted with this obscure, unknown ballet. I'd never even heard of Stravinsky. Probably another Baroque composer like Scarlatti, hunkering under the shadow of Almighty Bach.

"It's a student production, but it's pretty amazing," Hihara-sempai added. He smiled at Alice and touched her shoulder lightly as he said something. She reached into her little leather purse and brought out three tickets, one of which she handed to me.

"Arigato," I said, to which she replied, "Doitashimashite." I smiled at her, wondering if Hihara-sempai had explained to her the various levels of politeness in Japanese.

We entered the large, open concert hall, with golden ceiling and broad wooden aisles that lined the tidy rows of seats. To the sides, like wings, spread upper balcony seats. A lot of people were already there, so we shuffled in through to the middle of our row, apologizing the entire way, only to find that it was the wrong row, so we shuffled back out and to the one behind. I sat and smiled as Alice and Hihara-sempai talked, him giving her little sweet looks as he took her hand very tenderly and...chastely. His comment last night, "Not that I blame her," suddenly hit me with a jolt.

Ah. I get it now. So American Christianity is "like that", huh? I started to feel even more uncomfortable.

The lights dimmed, as the audience's hum dissipated like a bunch of bees leaving a blossoming sakura tree. Under the stage, the little lights on the stands of the orchestra glowed dimly, outlining the conductor just enough that his lanky sillouette was visible.

Then, a sound like none I'd ever heard before came, like a horn and oboe crossed, a single voice that pushed its way out into a strange and pensive melody

"That's the bassoon," Hihara-sempai whispered to me. "It's because it's playing its upper register that it sounds like that."

Other instruments, wind and brass, came in, each playing their own melody, seemingly unrelated in rhythm, key, or motive, competing and swirling madly. Eh? So this was 20th century music, then. I felt a little uneasy, even as the dancers began to pad their way out onto the stage while the entire string section played a drumming rhythm of a chord I'd never even imagined before. Their movements matched the music; it was graceful and deliberate, but completely unlike the floating, dreamlike _Giselle_ or _The Nutcracker Suite_, both of which I'd been to with Tsuchiura-kun during our last year of high school. Their costumes were simple, brown, and earthy, gritty even, like their movements.

The music progressed, fanciful and robust. I found myself fascinated by the urgency of the rhythm, the precision of the seeming randomness, the range from the highest piccolo notes to the low bass drum. As chaotic as it sounded, it was amazing, even so.

And then the timbre changed completely. The strings echoed each other in a heavy, melancholy set of chords, interrupted by the remains of the carefree winds, and then, BAM! I jumped in my seat as a boom from the bass drum and a crash from the cymbal introduced the same theme, fortissimo, but with much more dissonance, especially from the trumpets. The piece became even more frenzied as it continued through the rest of the first act, building tension toward the end.

There was a brief, hushed pause, in which none of the audience dared to even breathe, let alone applaud, and then, as the second act began, a circlet of girls began fluttering in the middle of the stage, to the eerie melodies of strings and flutes, watched by the hungry crowd of young men on the outside. I felt my scalp begin to tingle, and even Alice seemed to shift uncomfortably, on the other side of Hihara-sempai. The stage lights changed from green and blue to red, and suddenly, the entire circlet of girls fled the middle, leaving a solitary girl alone, staring out with a terrified expression on her face! I think Stravinsky must have died already, and decended into what Christianity describes as the "pit of eternal torment", in order to have composed such music. It frightened me, it actually did. The music reintroduced the brash brass and expectant bass drum, like the heartbeat of the starved earth, and she began to dance, frenetically, frantically, leaping and twirling, until she dropped down onto the stage and didn't get back up!

I gasped, as the lights dropped to black, and by the time my eyes had readjusted, the dancers were coming out to make their bows, smiling and nodding, and the audience applauding and...I was numb.

"Ne, are you okay, Kaho-chan?" Hihara-sempai asked, noticing me shivering even as he applauded. He reached behind him and took the coat from the back of his seat to drape it over my shoulders. "I'm sorry...LA isn't usually this cold in December. You can borrow one of Alice's coats for Tsukimori's recital tonight, if you'd like."

"I'm okay," I answered.

"Anyway, did you like the ballet?" he continued as we stood up and made our way to the door, Alice in the lead.

"I...didn't really understand it," I said truthfully. "I mean, it's a sacrifice, right? The girl?"

"Yeah. She dances herself to death. Creepy, huh? The first time this was performed, the concert hall went into madness. But it's incredible. Stravinsky was a master at tone-color."

"I'll give him that much," I allowed. Beautiful? In a way...his erratic rhythms and gorgeous swells of the orchestra had stirred in me an awe that music had lost recently. I thought suddenly that Usa might like it.

"Okay, on the way to pick up Tsukimori!" Hihara-sempai said as we climbed into his car. "I've seen some of his videos online, but I haven't seen him actually perform in person for over two years! So I'm really looking forward to it." He said something to Alice, who beamed and nodded enthusiastically.

"Wait til you hear him," I told him. "He's incredible. I mean, he was amazing before, but...And the violin he plays! It's so great!"

"How's your violin doing?" he asked suddenly. "Have you been working hard? Well, I know you have been, because it's you but..."

"Hm..." I grew silent, thinking back on the past year. "I've definitely learned a lot," I concluded. But I definitely had room for improvement. I made a mental note to practice more next semester.

It was already getting dark by the time we parked outside the large, modern-looking church where Len was to perform that night with a few other musicians from Hihara's acquaintance. "Is this your church?" I asked politely, gazing around at the cement walkways that lined the wide staircase to the glass double doors in the front.

"Yes," Hihara-sempai answered, "but let's enter through the side door. We only use this one for services."

"Ah...sou desu ka..."

As my wandering gaze met the metal railings, I gasped suddenly and knelt down. "Wow, what an amazing spider! Just like a red hour-glass!"

Hihara-sempai, who had just given me a little grin, suddenly balked and turned white. "Oi! Don't touch that! It's a really poisonous Black Widow!" he exclaimed as he grabbed the hand I'd been extending.

"Eh?" I asked in confusion. "Spiders can be poisonous? I thought that was just bees from Korea and stuff."

Both Hihara-sempai and Alice sighed in mutual bewilderment. "You really don't know anything about the world outside Japan, do you, Kaho-chan," said Hihara-sempai.

Ugh...this again...

"Koko de, kudasai," said Alice, gesturing with a smile toward a small side door. Inside, we could hear the quartet running through a last few measures. "Chotto hayai desu ne?" she continued, and I nodded.

"Yes, we're a little early." The two of them took seats in the back of the large, bright room, and I followed suit.

Up on the stage, there were three other strings players besides Len. A string quartet. I smiled over at Hihara-sempai, who smiled back as we both thought back on "Eine Kline Nachtmusik". How nostalgic.

As we sat there, watching the four of them working together, I felt the tension grow profoundly between Len and the others on the stage. I didn't need to understand what they were saying to know what was going on; you see, the others were more or less amateur musicians, and Len wasn't used to working with their "standard" any more than they were with his. It didn't help that he'd been the one to select the music, and as a result while he soared like a skylark on the gorgeous high notes of Claude Debussy's string quartet, the rest plodded along like brown, warty toads on a rotted log.

"Ne, Kaho-chan?"

"Mm?"

"I just remembered I have a piece I want to show you."

"On the trumpet?"

"It's originally for fiddle, but I can give you a clue how it goes. Wanna step out for a couple of minutes? We have another hour to go before the recital begins, anyway."

"Yeah, sure." Hihara-sempai and Alice lead the way out into the foyer, down the stairs and into a little room, where he took out his trumpet (somehow he's been carrying it all this time and I didn't notice?), tuned briefly, and, to Alice's shining eyed admiration, began to play a slow, melancholy tune with a dancelike but unpredictable rhythm. Thanks to my aural skills practice in music theory class, I figured out the notation to most of it in my head.

"Like this?" I began to hum what I remembered, and Hihara-sempai, smiling, played it again for me. This time, I remembered all of it perfectly.

"What's it called?" I asked as he began to put his trumpet back into the little square black carrying case.

"It's called 'The Ashokan Farewell'. It's an old folk-tune. It's pretty famous in the States."

"I think my friend Ichi would like it," I mused. "But it's very different from the tunes he plays."

"Fiddler?"

"Yes. You'd like him."

"I wish I could meet him. But it doesn't look very likely right now." Hihara-sempai sighed thoughtfully as he took Alice's hand and lead the way back into the hall.

You may be expecting, long-suffering Reader, that I will now commence to describe the recital in detail: the type of emotion put into the music, and how the audience responded, a play by play of all the movements...but fear not, I will spare you this time. For one, I'd rather not recount it myself. Suffice to say, it was all but a disaster, Len not being the least to blame, for all my "faithful girlfriend" instincts to be outraged at the others and lament his bad luck at being stuck with three amateurs when he was used to Such-and-Such Philharmonic, accompanied by the cherubs of heaven on flute and lyre. His aggravation with their incompetence bled through into the performance, and the audience shifted in their seats uncomfortably as we all just waited for it to end.

It was a very silent drive back to our respective hotels that night.

.

The next day dawned bright and warm, and though Len continued to chill the air with stony silence as Hihara-sempai, accompanied by Alice, drove us back to LAX, I found myself laughing again as Hihara-sempai regalled me with horror stories of his first encounter with Los Angeles.

"...So the first time I went to get coffee at a café, I went up and asked for a cup of decaf with milk and sugar. I couldn't figure out at the time why the girl at the register kept giving me a strange look, but I figured it was my hair. Anyway, she asked me, 'Decaf with what?' so I repeated, 'Milk and sugar'. 'Sorry?' 'Milk and sugar!' By this time the line behind me is starting to build up and I'm getting business men pulling up their sleeves to look at their watches and clearing their throats pointedly. So at last I pointed toward a jug of milk on the shelf, and some packets of sugar on the counter, and she gave me an exasperated look and said, 'Oh, milk and sugar! You should have said so to begin with.' It wasn't until later, when I was trying to tell a friend on campus that I was having lentil soup for lunch and he asked me, 'Um...what exactly do you mean by having "rental soup for runch"?' that I realized what I'd been saying earlier was, 'Can I have decaf coffee with mirk and sugal, please?'."

"I still don't know how you tell the difference between 'l' and 'r'," I commented, noting that Alice's expression had begun to take over the glazed "I wish I knew what these guys were talking about" look that I'm sure I'd been wearing earlier.

"It takes some getting used to. Well, we're here. I'll help you get your bags from the trunk." He parked in front of one of the many international flight companies that lined the street side of LAX, and the rest of us obediently filed out.

"Don't forget anything," Len said brusquely.

"Don't worry," answered Hihara-sempai cheerfully. "Eto...where's your violin?"

Len held up his old, travel-battered case so the other, still rummaging in the trunk of his car, could see it. "I've been carrying it with me the entire time."

"Ah...sou da ne...Hahaha!" Hihara-sempai rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "That's so like you. Just like old times, huh?"

"Let's get going." Len gathered his suitcase and began to stalk into the building.

"Hey, hey, picture, picture!" Hihara-sempai called out, still laughing. "I want a picture with both of you guys, Alice and Kahoko. What man ever got two gorgeous redheads on his arm before? Ne, Tsukimori, take it, okay?"

Begrudgingly, Len took my camera from me after I dug it out from a certain handbag, and snapped the photo. "You need to email these to me later, okay, Kaho-chan?" Hihara-sempai said, taking my camera from him in turn. "Okay, one with you, Tsukimori. We'll do one of those famous 'arm out to the side pics' so we can all be in it."

"I decline."

"Oh, come on, Tsukimori."

"I refuse to be in such a picture."

"Shikatanai, ne," said Hihara-sempai, smiling as he turned and said something to Alice.

"Ne, Kaho-chan," he whispered as he pulled me into a last quick hug, "I'm sorry I made you two feel uncomfortable. I didn't know that Len would react this strongly."

"It can't be helped; you know how he is," I said, stepping back when Len's eyes took on the "You've had your hands on her too long, so back off" sort of gleam.

"Well...kiotsukete, ne?" he said, and Alice nodded vigorously beside him.

"Thanks. You guys, too. And come back to Japan sometime, okay? I kinda get lonely without you," I said. "And bring Alice, too. I want to introduce her to Mori and Nami."

He laughed. "It's been ages since I talked to either of them."

Actually, me too. But I'd promised both of them before we'd left for Europe that I'd hang out with them before the break was over. Just when I'd have time I didn't know yet but...

"Kahoko." Len's voice was definitely impatient. Hihara-sempai waved at him cheerfully. "Thanks for playing at our church, Len! Everyone enjoyed it. Don't be a stranger, ne?"

"Thank you for inviting me," Len answered stiffly. "Kahoko, come on. We need to get going."

The two of them waved at us until we had already passed through security, smiling, as always.

I felt glad that Hihara-sempai and I could still be friends.

**Author's Notes: **

Yeah, a bit contoversial. Although I'm not making any statements on either side of the "religion" issue, I thought it would be fascinating to try to portray a Nipponjin's view on conservative Christianity. I really hope I didn't tread on anyone's toes.

Oh...and this is a very rushed chapter, also it kind of drags, sorry about that. I'm kind of travelling a lot right now, and that on top of practice...I've started Chopin's third ballade a couple of days ago, it's really amazing. Go listen to it right now, or else!

Anyway! So, this is random, but I wanted to make up a li'l survey concerning "our" boys:

Who do you like/admire best?

Who would you want to date?

Who would you probably end up dating?

Who do you think is the cutest?

Who is the most mysterious?

Who's left over?

.

My answers!

Tsukimori Len (duh)

Tsuchiura Ryou (this is where Usa and I deviate)

Hihara Kazuki (I have a weakness for sweet guys)

Shimizu Keiichi (because he looks like the violinist Momiji from Fruits Basket!)

Yunoki Azuma (not a huge fan)

Aoi Kaji (sorry, love) (I do like a cute blond, though)

Translations:

Kore wa suteki desu ne? This is great, isn't it?

Honto ni kirei desu. It's really pretty.

Doitashimashite. You're welcome (more polite version; normally you'd say "Iie" or "Dozo")

Koko de kudasai. This way, please.

Chotto hayai desu ne? We're a little early, aren't we?

Shikattanai, ne. It can't be helped, can it.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18: G flat dur

"YAYAYAY! NIPPON! TADAIMA!"

"I'm glad you're excited, Kahoko, but do you think you could manage that energy mezzo-piano?" Len asked, calmly removing his fingers from his ears.

I turned to him with a wide smile. "Come now, don't you ever feel this way, coming back home? Konnichiwa, Nipponjin-tachi! Minna-san daisuki desu!" My ejaculation, uttered in my happiest Japanese, drew many strange looks from the other people on the train, particularly given that it happened to be early morning for them (for me, it still felt like evening), and as a result Len hunched up his shoulders next to me and pretended to be deeply interested in the handle of his violin case.

Okay, so I was going a little overboard, yes. Do you blame me? I almost cried the first time I heard someone answer "Moshi moshi?" on a cellphone next to me in the Narita airport. Now, on the train to Tokyo Station, from which we would catch the Shinkansen to Niigata and Len would give a recital (solo, with accompanist, thankfully) in the afternoon. Which meant that the entire day would be one huge rush of craziness. As tired as I was after the long flight from America, though both of us had done our best to sleep as much as possible, he looked even tireder, and slightly more tense after the disaster of a recital at the church.

"So explain to me why it's New Year's Eve today?" I asked him, to lighten the mood that was creeping in dark foggy swirls around him and causing the lady next to him to edge away slightly. "Wasn't it the 29th when we left America?"

"Yes, but we crossed the International Date Line on the way. Given the travel time on the airplane, we skipped the 30th altogether," he answered, still fiddling with the handle. "I hope you're okay, hungerwise." I was starving. "We'll have to wait until around two for lunch, and right after that we need to head to the recital hall."

"Ugh...Is your life always this crazy?"

"Most of the time, yes."

I balked at him. "Really? What...why...how do you put up with it? Doesn't it just wear you into the ground? When do you have time for fun?"

"This is just the way it is," he barked back at me, his voice not raising in volume, but considerably in intensity. "You should already know this, Kahoko. What have you been doing the last two years? I thought you were going to take music seriously."

"I am," I retorted, "but the way you're always running around is insane! You should take more time to actually be around other people, you know. When's the last time you just hung out with friends? I thought..." I choked back my words at the cold look in his eyes. I thought you had changed, Tsukimori-kun. The way you looked at me when you played "Meditation from Thais", when you introduced me to your mom, when you kissed me...Was that all a ploy? Have you actually changed at all?

By this point, the other passengers on the train were beginning to feel uncomfortable. I myself felt a little weird, now that everyone could understand what we were saying again.

"You're attracting attention," he said, still coolly not looking at me. "Please try to keep your voice down."

Oh, thank you for stating the obvious! I rummaged about in my purse for my cellphone and looked through the messages to hide my embarassment from the rest of the passengers.

Two messages from Mori Manami. One from Amou Nami. I think I could guess the content of both. Several from Mio and Nao. Ack! I'd forgotten to write my nengajou! Hopefully I could see them before vacation ended and tell them, "Akemashite omedatou gozaimasu!" face-to-face.

One from my mom...no wait, two...no, five, six...Oh, for pity's sake, Mom!

None from Usa, apparently. I felt both surprised and not surprised.

I found the bottom, then scrolled all the way back to the top, then back down.

Nothing from Tsuchiura-kun, either. Was I relieved, or disappointed?

I peeked back over at Len to make sure he wasn't looking over my shoulder. Not that he could have guessed why I was scrolling through the list yet again, searching in vain.

Stop it, Kahoko. This isn't like you, to be so double-minded. Surely some kami up there is tsking at me for it.

A grueling six hours later, and we finally managed to make our way to a ramen bar in a small town in Niigata. I guess Len was too tired at the moment to care where we went. Not that I blamed him. My stomach had been rumbling for the last two hours straight.

"Ne," he said quietly, as we sat down on the cushions of the raised tatami mats in front of the low tables. "I'm sorry about earlier, okay? I'm just...tired, and stressed." He sighed and shivered slightly, even under the heavy overcoat he was wearing, and checked to make sure that our luggage in an alcove at the entrance was secure, forgetting, it seemed, that we were in Japan again and didn't have to worry. "That concert the other night just...seemed like all of my work went backward. It's been a long time since I had to work with amateurs. Not including you, I mean."

"Oh thanks," I said gloomily, all the happy warm feelings from his apology disappearing as the wind and dry snow blew in with another customer entering to the familiar calls of "Irrashaimase!" from the shopkeepers.

He noted my tone of voice and had the decency to look slightly ashamed. "I didn't mean it like that..."

"Oh, no, I know, I'm just an amateur after all," I said ruthlessly.

"Kahoko..."

"I don't practice enough, I'm not motivated enough, of course I'm stuck in the water. Naturally playing with me must make you feel like your 'work went backward'." I swallowed hard as tears started to threaten my eyes, and an enormous lump forced its way up through my throat.

Len opened his mouth as if to say something, but our two bowls of steaming hot ramen seemed to magically appear at that moment, and I began to devour mine, despite the fact that the hot noodles scalded my tongue and made my face burn, as much to keep from looking at him as to assauge my hunger. A great big pride-monster prowled up inside my chest and kept saying, "Don't let him apologize! Keep making him feel bad! He deserves it, after all!"

I'm a horrible person, aren't I? Just tell me so to my face, and help me feel even worse. It's the only thing that feels good right now, feeling bad.

"Kahoko." No way. I'm enjoying my pity-party, and I don't feel like ending it right now. "Kahoko. Look at me, please."

Jingle jingle went the bell at the door as another customer left. I continued to gorge on the noodles.

He leaned forward suddenly and grabbed my chopsticks from my hand, noodles dangling from them and dropping onto the table-top with a splat that made the waitress sigh. Outraged, I looked up at him and opened my mouth to snarl something...I don't know what, but he dropped the chopsticks, too, and grabbed my face with both hands to pull me in for a kiss...

...that went on...

...and on...

...and this is starting to get embarassing, as much as I'm enjoying it...

...oh, hell with it.

I looked up with proverbial stars in my eyes as he finally pulled away, breathing heavily, a single noodle drooping from the corner of his mouth, though he still hadn't touched his bowl. Yikes. No wonder everyone else in the tiny shop was staring at us like we were Gaijin or something.

"Don't ever say that about yourself again, please," he whispered, the noodle quivering where it hung as he did so. It was driving me crazy, that noodle. I leaned forward suddenly and kissed the corner of his mouth, taking said noodle with me as I did. He appeared to not have noticed and went on. "I know you've been working hard. I know you've improved. Hell, the first time you played for me after I saw you again, I practically didn't recognize you. But..." He pulled back suddenly, both bowls in front of us forgotten, and he frowned down at the miso broth.

"...but?"

"...Nevermind. Forget it." He smiled suddenly, the first time since we'd landed at LAX. "Tonight will be different. The accompanist tonight is top-notch. I've worked with him before. So it'll be okay. Best of all, my manager is still in LA. Seems she had some last minute work to do there."

"Good."

"Definitely."

.

"Okay, so it didn't go as well as it could have," I said about five hours later as we hailed a taxi in the darkness of the winter evening. "But I really enjoyed the program. I think Mozart's violin sonatas are good for you—they're playful, and whimsical and..."

"And Hamadera-san just had to go and catch influenza, and leave me with that second-rate pianist," Len joined in gloomily, packing our bags into the back and holding the door open for me. "Did you hear how many mistakes he made, just on the E minor sonata alone? I mean, did he even practice? I could have carried it myself, but of course we didn't have time to arrange interpretation, and his habit of always coming in early made me look like I was the one making mistakes!" He sighed, giving the taxi driver the address and draping himself tiredly on his side of the seat.

"I don't think anyone noticed," I ventured. It looked like it was going to be a clear night. How beautiful the temple looked in the moonlight! And the streetlamps on the snow-dusted pavement...the little wooden-slatted gateways in front of the houses...it felt great to be back.

"I noticed," he pressed on determinedly. "I wasn't able to produce the most beautiful music I could. My ears were suffering. Even if 'nobody else noticed', I didn't get any enjoyment out of the performance."

"Oh, don't be silly," I scolded mildly. "Just learn to enjoy your performance in spite of your mistakes. Anyway, you should be thinking about the audience enjoying it more than yourself."

"Chigau." The line of his mouth thinned and spread disgruntledly. "What makes my performance enjoyable to me is the level of control, the amount of perfection, the ability I have to make it beautiful. If I don't enjoy it, why do it? It's not about being selfish. It's about motivating myself."

He sighed and rubbed his temples. "In any case, I only got one address for the hotels. I hope you won't come barging into my room like last time."

"Of course I won't."

"Good."

I was so tired anyway, I expected I'd just plop on the floor of my room and stay there until morning.

But...

"That's strange," he said, looking around where we found ourselves a little while later.

Dear Reader, not only were we not in seperate hotels, we had been deposited in a large, single ryōkan room. From the decor, I could deduce that the purpose of this particular room was rather pointed, as well.

Len blushed deeply as he attempted to subtly hide an erotic statuette behind a couch. "There must be some mistake," he said, as the hostess entered, bowing deeply. "Are you sure our reservations weren't mixed up?"

The hostess gave us both a knowing look as she smiled and said, "Oh, no, no mixup. As a matter of fact, I was instructed to give this to you. I'll bring in dinner at 8:00."

Dinner sounded good. Especially since I had a pretty good idea of what "dinner" at a ryōkan meant. I figured staying up a little later wouldn't hurt anything.

Len took the envelope and small package from the hostess, and she stepped out, bowing lowly as she knelt at the door and slid the door shut. He sat down casually on the couch, and took a small slip of paper out of the envelope, reading it silently.

"Oi, I want to know what it is," I said, sitting next to him and reading over his shoulder.

Dear Len, (it began) (I've always wanted to use that way of beginning to read someone else's letter, like one of those 18th century Western Gothic novels that Nao is always carrying around. )

I've pulled some strings behind your manager's back. I hope you enjoy your stay here tonight. Please have fun and be safe. See the attached box for further instructions.

-Dad

"Hm? 'Have fun and be safe'? That sounds like more of a mom sort of thing to say," I said carelessly, as Len unwrapped the box. Then he attempted to dispose of said box in the same manner as the statuette earlier.

"Wait, let me see," I laughed, grabbing his arm. He made an honest effort to keep it away from me.

"No, Kahoko, seriously, you don't want to see this. Nothing of interest, not at all." He pulled harder, attempting to break my hold on him, but all it afforded was pulling me straight onto his lap.

I forgot about the box for a split second, not to mention being tired, as, with a look that I'd seen back in Italy, he slipped his arm around my waist and stared down into my eyes.

"Got it!" I slipped the box from his hand and then realized everything.

12 lubricated condoms. Extra-long.

I dropped it into my lap, face going from red-head fair to lobster scarlet in seconds. I scrambled off his lap and sat a foot away from him on the couch.

We both stared intently at the tea garden out the window.

"Um, onsen sounds good to me right now. Yup. I'll go shower and take a dip in the onsen," I said, and he quickly agreed, "Yes, they always say you should take the benefits of the hot springs before dinner. Sounds good. I'll meet you back here at about 8:00?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

.

I drew a deep sigh of relief as I lowered myself carefully into the steaming mineral water a little while later. This was seriously the most relaxing thing in the world. Unlike the cheaper onsens I usually went to with friends or family, the room was carefully arranged aesthetically, the gentle curves of the upper beams on the ceiling complimenting the rippled design of the steps into the pool, with smooth grey stones fitted together tightly for the floor, and elegant mini-stations for cleaning around the outside, complete with varieties of face washes, lotions, and luxurious soaps.

Also, I practically had the whole place to myself. The only other occupants were a pair of elderly women on the other side, laughing and chatting to each other in that laid-back, slow way that the hot temperature and decor required.

Each onsen has its own particular healing "properties", as anyone knows, and the hostess had mentioned to us that this one was specifically for the illness of "erotic disinterest", though I sincerely hoped she was joking.

A little while later, I became convinced of the veracity of that report.

Without warning, the two other ladies came wading over to me with sly smiles on their faces.

"What a pretty young lady!" one said, as they settled down on the steps next to me. "So seldom young people come to ryōkan these days. Surely you're not alone?"

"No," I answered stiffly, though trying to be polite. "I'm here with my boyfriend tonight. But it's not what you think..." I hastily added, my face, already red as it was from the heat, unable to flush further.

They exchanged knowing looks between themselves and grinned at me. "Of course it isn't, dearie," the other said. "Is this your first experience?"

"Oh, yes, I've never stayed at a ryōkan before."

"No, dearie, I mean with sex," she replied demurely.

! Seriously? You're asking me that? So forewardly! But they were both looking at me expectantly, so I answered, "Yes, of course! I mean, not that we're planning on making it a first time tonight! We're both very tired, we've been travelling around the world and..."

The two of them cackled in delight. "A first-timer! How nostalgic," one sighed to the other, and they both nodded.

"To think that your boyfriend is taking you to an expensive ryōkan!" the other sighed. "He must really think you're special."

"Ah, how different things were back then," the other rejoined. "My first time, we were in a love hotel in Tokyō and..."

"I think I'll be heading back to my room," I said, hastily getting out of the water. "Dinner is at eight and..."

"Okay, dearie, have a good night!" the two of them chimed in unison. "And don't forget protection!" They laughed cheerily and went back to talking.

As I dried off and slipped into my yukata, I thought that perhaps the water had gotten to me, too. For whatever reason, I couldn't get past the thought of Len in the men's side, soaking in the clear water...the image made my insides twist, and though I tried to dispel the thought, pleasurable though it most certainly was (!), it kept coming back, stronger and stronger.

Len wasn't back yet by the time I got to our room. It briefly passed my mind that he'd fallen asleep in the onsen. He looked so exhausted. I thought back to the hotel in Italy, and firmly deduced that whatever those two ladies had been thinking about, definitely was not happening tonight.

So why was I changing into the little red-and-black slip of a dress, with the plunging V-neck neckline and clinging silk skirt, that Len had bought me in Italy? Oh, why indeed? Maybe I should change back into my yukata?

Too late. The door slid open, and Len entered, still bleary but definitely looking more alive. His face was flushed slightly from the heat, and the front of his yukata revealed masculine chest curves. Just behind him entered our hostess, bearing trays and trays of delicious dishes.

"I hope you enjoyed the onsen," she asked, bowing lowly even as she set up the low table carefully and tastefully. "As I've mentioned before, the particular healing characteristics of this onsen are very unique. Couples often come here for rejuvination. Are you feeling rejuvinated?" She looked at us expectantly, and I nodded politely. Len nodded as stiffly as if he was a board.

If I were to describe to you in detail the fourteen or so dishes, each laid out in its own decorative bowl and arranged so beautifully that if I hadn't been absolutely starving I would have thought twice before eating, I think you would charge me with cruel and inhumane torture, so I will spare you the details and defer to our hostess, who has by now finished laying out the meal and is carefully making her exit.

Our romantic dinner conversation went something like this:

Me: "Are you feeling better? The onsen is really amazing, isn't it?"

Len: "Yes."

Me: "I can't believe your father arranged for us to stay in a ryōkan. Isn't it terribly expensive?"

Len: "Yes."

Me: "...Are you going to say anything else tonight?" (facetiously)

Len: (considering, finishing off a dish of five types of winter sushi) "No."

Me: (sighs)

Len: (snickers ever so slightly)

Me: Fine, be that way.

Len: Fine, I will.

Me: Fine.

Len: Fine.

Hostess: Would you like some sake?

Both of us: YES.

"Did you enjoy the meal?" our hostess asked later as she cleared away the dishes.

"Oh yes," I responded instantly. "It was lovely." And I feel like I'm about to burst! Who knew such small dishes could fill you up so much?

"I'll bring by breakfast at around eight in the morning, so please relax for the rest of the evening. Would you like for me to arrange for a masseuse?"

"No, thank you," I replied. I wouldn't have minded one, honestly, but Len did seriously look like he was about to drop from exhaustion.

"Incidentally, there is supposed to be a full moon tonight. If you so choose to view it from the garden, please feel free. Tomorrow it is supposed to snow."

"Thank you," said Len, absentmindedly.

"Have a good evening," she said finally, and bowed her way out, leaving the two of us alone.

.

Well, it doesn't look like he's falling asleep yet, folks. And neither am I.

I gave into the seductive waters of the onsen. After all, is it really a crime to take advantage of a perfect situation?

"Ne, Len," I purred, coyly spreading out the silk skirt of my dress on the tatami mats, "How tired are you tonight?"

"Tireder that you can imagine," he said, but the fingers on his left hand were absentmindedly tapping on the mat, probably going back over the music from this afternoon and thinking of ways that he could have played better.

I leaned forward and captured said hand. The glazed look in his eyes disappeared, but the circles around them didn't.

He watched me as I drew his hand to my face and pressed it to my cheek. His hand formed around the curve of my jaw, stroking it slightly, even as his eyes danced from my eyes, to my mouth, down to the neckline of my dress...

"You know, I really should get a few more minutes of practice before we go to sleep," he said abruptly, withdrawing his hand.

"Eh? But you don't have another concert again anytime soon, do you?" I asked.

"Well, no, but I need to keep in form, anyway. There were a couple of areas in the Mozart that I think I want to go over, fix up a bit, reinterpret. And there's the Brahms violin and cello concerto that I'm supposed to work on..."

"Oh, for pity's sake," I said, petulantly. "Can't it wait? Just relax tonight. Your father went to all this trouble..."

"See, this is what I mean," he interrupted, and his voice was definitely bordering on impatience. "You don't realize what kind of commitment it takes to be successful in the music world. You're banking on two hours or so of practice a day, so that you have enough time to hang out with friends and go out shopping and..."

"Hey," I objected, feeling hurt. "I've been working really hard this semester! I haven't had hardly any time to spend with friends. The fact that we couldn't meet practically at all was as much due to me being busy as you! Besides, everyone needs to relax once in a while, don't you think? You can't just run on fumes all the time."

"If you don't go as long as you can, you won't stretch your limits of endurance. You need to be able to practice longer, think more deeply about music..."

"How can you think more deeply about music if you don't think more deeply about the world itself?" I asked hypocritically.

He jumped up from the futon and paced the tatami, his expression hidden by the shadows, his sillohette illuminated against the soft light of the lamp across the room. I watched the line of light around his jaw clench and unclench, and then, with a soft sigh, he sat back down on his futon and looked away.

"You're supposed to understand!" he said, his voice raised slightly in anger, and his eyebrows beginning to draw together. "I thought you would understand, all of this passion, the desire to succeed, and the necessity of the hard work that goes into it! We are musicians, you, me; so you should know, as much as I do! We have to make this sacrifice, the hours of solitude, making others feel snubbed because we can't come to this or that event. We have to choose our friends carefully, and be okay with the fact that we'll hurt others as a result."

"Well, it shouldn't be that way!" I countered, a little angry that he just accepted that sort of thing. "We're making music for others, so why do we have to alienate them? Shouldn't we try to understand them, so that we can make music for them?"

"I...I don't know," he said, suddenly slumping forward in defeat. He raised his hands and rubbed the palms of his hands into his face. "I just don't know, Kahoko. But maybe...maybe this isn't working, maybe you and I should..."

My heart started to stop, the blood drained from my face. No...no...it can't be...

That moment of meaningful silence scared me more than the flight to Europe, more than the terrifying car ride in Italy, more than 'Le Sacre du Printemps'. It wasn't just that I was scared that he'd end our relationship, even in the budding stage that it was; more than that, I was terrified that he'd return to "that" Len. The one I'd met all that time ago, nearly bumping into him at the doorway of the music classroom, the one with cold eyes, who didn't want anything to do with anyone else. I couldn't let him recede into that; I just couldn't.

He'd come this far, all on his own, and if he let all that work go to waste...the world would be bereft of his true music.

"Len!" I cried out, wildly, feeling my heart starting to rip itself in shreds, and I reached out and grabbed his hands in mine. He looked up at me in astonishment, but in his eyes was...hope.

"Never, never, I'll try to understand you, and we'll figure this out together," I managed to get out, gripping his hands so tightly in mine that he winced. "Just don't...don't assume that you can't understand other people. Or that they can't understand you. Don't sacrifice yourself like this, you can't. And besides that..." I choked off. And besides that...

I suddenly thought of Usa, who spent God-knows-how-many-hours in the practice rooms, shutting herself up from everyone. I thought of how quickly she'd progressed, from sheer determination, and yet how much she still strove for perfection.

I thought of Ichi, who even for his casual manner and wide grin still loved music more than anything. I thought of how he never seemed present without his violin or at least his headset, because he wanted to be in the moment all the time.

I thought of Tsuchiura-kun...and there I stopped. Especially since Len's serious amber eyes were boring into mine.

"I understand," I whispered at last.

Someone has to help you, to keep you from withdrawing, because you're helpless, for all your determination to be the next Yehudi Menuin; for the four or five languages that you speak, you still don't know how to communicate. You love to play music for the enjoyment of other people, and yet you haven't learned how to make them laugh, just by yourself.

Call it a "savior complex" if you will. Tell me that I'm prideful, thinking that I'm the only one who can save you, and bring you back, and keep you in touch with reality.

But it's true.

And I will fulfill that role with everything I have, because the worst thing that could happen...is to hear the haunting silence after your music ends. I'll work my hardest, even though it's a hard and painful journey, because to make music at your side is the greatest offering I can give to you.

"I know you do," he answered gently. "You always have."

He leaned back, looked up, sighed, looked over, straightened up, stroked my hair with his hand. "You look gorgeous in that dress." Oh, you finally noticed?

"You bought it for me, don't you remember?"

"Oh, right. Hm. When did I buy it for you?"

"The day before the concert in Rome."

"Before the concert? Heh, you honestly think I would remember that? I can't be held responsible for anything I do before a concert, you know."

He looked over at me, and his expression was softening into real laughter, now. I couldn't help but smile in return.

"That's so you."

"Yeah. But it's so you to remember something like that."

"Hehe."

He continued to play with my hair, curling the ends over his fingers, and then, softly, dropping his fingers to graze my cheek, down to the jaw, then the other side. He smiled and kissed me quickly. Then, like an afterthought, he leaned in again and kissed me more lingeringly.

I grabbed his elbow and pulled him into me, closer, allowing his masculine scent to fill my senses, feeling the heat coming from his face, against mine. The kiss grew deeper than the Mariana Trench...and about as wet.

A moment of indecision, of asking permission and granting it, wordlessly.

He pushed me, gently, oh so slowly, backwards onto the soft comforter.

There happened to be a beautiful moon that night, but neither of us noticed it.

**Author's Notes:**

You know how in movies from pre-50s, the couple are in the bedroom, and then you get a shot of the curtain ruffling outside? Here's your curtain.

Frankly, I think it's funny how my definition of "mature content" seems to be so different from others. I considered the previous chapter to be much more questionable than this one, so much so that I hesitated publishing it, but I got more than a couple of giggles as I shamelessly typed out this one.

Finally, I'm sorry I haven't replied to any of my wonderful reviewers! For some reason I can't respond right now (mutters random dirty words in several languages under breath). But as always I appreciate all your reviews, and I look forward to receiving more! (nudge nudge wink wink)

Translations:

Nippon: Japan

Nipponjin: Japanese people

Tadaima: I'm home

Minna-san daisuki desu: I love everyone.

Moshi moshi: hello (telephone)

Nengajou: New Year's cards (this year I got to send rabbit cards from Japan. I was very happy ^^)

Akemashite omedatou gozaimasu: Happy new year! (sort of...)

Gaijin: foreigner

Chigau: wrong

Ryōkan: traditional Japanese inn

Onsen: traditional hot tub!


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19: E flat dur

The morning air was crisp against my cheeks and forehead, and I groaned as I scooted down deeper under the blanket, pulling it further over my head. I could tell by the light outside the window that it was already late into the morning, maybe about nine o'clock, but the futon was warm, and I didn't want to emerge just yet.

Maybe fifteen more minutes of sleep would be best, anyway; I hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Plus, getting out of bed meant I'd have to get dressed, and that would be really cold right now.

My world fuzzed in and out; I probably dropped off for a couple of minutes, but in reality, I was already awake, and I just didn't want to admit it, yet. I knew that if I stayed in bed I would get up with a furious headache, but that would be later, and right now was now, and right now I wanted more sleep.

Ow...why was I so sore today? Surely the plane ride back wasn't that bad. Len's legs, being longer than mine, probably took the brunt worse off...oh! Len!

I poked my head out of the blankets and was awarded with the double wammy of bright sunlight and freezing air. I looked around, once my eyes, accusing me deeply of first degree torture, had adjusted. The room was just as it had been last night. The shoji were drawn apart slightly; my suitcase was still closed; Len's was open just enough to get out one change of clothing, which was already folded and waiting on top. From the bathroom, I heard water running. That's where he was, afterall.

A new year, huh? I leaned back and smiled at the rafters. I was looking forward to a new year with Len. Long live the year of the dragon.

The lightswitch in the bathroom flipped off, and Len stepped out, dressed in his blue yukata. He was just tying the obi around his waist, and when he saw that I was awake, he smiled.

"Sleep well?"

"Never better. Hey, Len," my voice got softer, "would you mind bringing me my yukata from the bathroom?"

He grinned at me. I'm pretty sure I've never seen him grin before, and it was adorable and rakish. "Come out and get it yourself."

"No. It's cold out there."

His grin widened. "Shy?"

I blushed. "Maybe."

He disappeared for a minute and then emerged with the yukata, setting it down next to me as he settled back down into his own futon.

"Thanks." I quickly dressed under the shelter of the warm blankets. "How did you sleep, anyway?"

"Hm." He smiled and looked out into the garden, at the snow that fell in heavy clumps, but didn't answer beyond that. I suddenly wondered if, after I had dropped off, he hadn't slept at all.

I scooted over and laid my head in the curve of his chest and shoulder. He felt so relaxed, calm, and at peace. The usual tenseness of his muscles was gone completely, and he tilted his head over to kiss the top of my hair.

"Kahoko. Kahoko, Kahoko. You're the sweetest thing, the best thing that ever happened to me."

I leaned my head back to look up into his eyes. Len has said so many things to me through his eyes. So many things that I've wanted to hear aloud, and this was one of them. He had said it.

"My master has been telling me, 'People always say, "So-and-so has great technique. He will become a wonderful musician." Bull-shit. Technique is easier to acquire than sensitivity, and you can't get sensitivity just by burying your head in music all the time. Sensitivity is what everything else in life gives to you, the people, the heartache, the sun that shines brightly.' I didn't get it until last night." He smiled as he traced my face, again. "Then I understood. All these experiences, everything in life, they are what make the music in my hands come to life."

I caught his hand and kissed it.

"Kahoko. I want to experience everything this world has to offer: different cultures, gormet food and wine, conversation with the intelligent and the simple. I want to drink it in, to quaff it fully, and then pour that back into music, to give and give back and continue like that. Together, with you. Forever."

I couldn't speak. Happiness was welling up in me, so acutely that it leaked out my eyes and trickled into my ears.

He wiped away my tears and kissed my nose gently. Then he laughed, so lightly and carefreely.

"A new year. And we will start it today. You and me, we will go out and eat mochi like kids, and visit shrines, and drink sake, even though we're underage, and..."

I found myself laughing. "And play the violin together?"

"Not today. Let's give it a rest, just for a couple of days, enough to lift my head and look at the world, and then we will make music together, like the world has never heard."

"Len?"

"Yes?"

"What should I do?"

He looked a little confused. "What do you mean?"

"How can I make my life the best it can be? How should I continue with music?" I voiced my concerns boldly, the ones that had been burning in my heart since the night at the hotel in Italy. "I want to be the best thing that's happened to you, to make every day one that you look forward to, but I don't know how. If I continue college, and you return to Europe, I'm afraid that when we meet again, it will never be the same."

He was silent for a minute, as he shifted his arms back so that his head was resting against them, and I felt the steady rhythm of his breathing, like rolling waves on the ocean.

"I don't know if I can bear to be seperated from you anymore," he mused. "Every note that's come out of me for the last two years has reminded me of you. It's been described as 'wistful' and 'longing' by the music critics, who love to be reminded of the agony of youth, but I don't want that sort of sound any more. I want 'happy' and 'satisfied'. I can't get that without you. I'll be your teacher," he postulated, suddenly, "if it comes to that. Will you be okay with that? If you have to leave college, will you regret it?"

"Never," was my instantaneous response. "All I've been doing the last year is trying to catch up to you, and now you're here..." I stretched one arm across his chest and closed my eyes tightly. "I'm not letting go."

I heard him sigh, and I knew it was relief. "Well, we don't have to decide right away, fortunately," he said. "I have a little more time off, and by the time the school year ends for you, I'll have a better idea of where I'll be going and what I'll be doing." He gave another spontaneous burst of laugh. "As long as you're with me, I don't care if I'll be performing in Tokyo or Zaire. Learn with me, and grow in music, love the violin, and I won't want anything else. You will catch up to me, Kahoko. I know you can."

.

The day that followed that morning is one I will remember forever as the most blissful of my life.

I think it was the first time, in my whole experience of knowing Len, that he didn't mention music, not even once. Not that I dislike hearing him talk about music, but I felt like it was really good for him to be lifting his head, as it were, and looking around him with eyes that were keen to discover the world for the world's sake, and...sniffing the air?

"Ne, what do you smell?" I asked, as we strolled down the street, occassionally buffetted around by the faithful crowds that attended their local shrines and temples.

"Seems like...shabu-shabu," he said, with a laugh. He offered me his arm with another of those wonderful grins. "Hungry yet?"

"Well..." Breakfast had been huge, like dinner, but it seemed a shame to pass up the opportunity for shabu-shabu. I wondered exactly how deep the pockets of the Tsukimoris went, anyway: first a ryōkan, now shabu-shabu? I felt like I was being spoiled.

I was rather enjoying being spoiled, actually.

I took the offered arm as shyly as it was offered, and beamed back at him. "I love shabu-shabu," I said, without thinking.

"I love...it, too," he said, quietly, as a sudden, revelatory look crossed his face.

"Len?"

"Hm?"

"...Nothing."

We entered the large restaraunt, its interior as fancy as that of the ryōkan, and the wonderful smell of the thin-sliced meat, cooking in individual pots, greeted us as friendly as the smile of the waiter at the front door, while the red-and-white porceline cat with one raised paw eyed us warily from the door.

Through the noise of the other customers, filling the hall with happy New Year's chatter, the two of us couldn't hear each other, so instead, picking at the steaming pot with our chopsticks, we smiled happily at each other and...I admit with a blush, he laid his hand on my knee under the table, as surreptitiously as possible.

The warmth of the shabu-shabu filled my stomach, but I preferred the warmth of his hand.

The chill of the air hit us again when we left the restaraunt, stinging my face with the tiny snowflakes that blew against us. Len put his arm around me and drew me near, into the warmth of his body, and said to me, "Here's a temple. Want to buy a fortune?"

"Okay," I said as we entered the busy temple area, where people were paying to hit the large copper bell, and a long line extended out down the steps of the temple, which we joined.

"Do you miss your family?" he asked as we waited. "You should have spent New Year's with them. I think I'll have to apologize for taking you away."

"I miss them, but I've spent eighteen New Year's with them already," I laughed. "I think I don't mind spending one with you, instead."

"Mm." His face flushed a little, though it may have been from the cold.

"Something the matter?"

"I was just thinking," he said quietly, "it's a family thing, isn't it? New Year's, I mean. Even with my family as busy as it is...we always made time for each other during New Year's. And now I'm spending it with you."

His amber eyes locked with mine meaningfully, and I didn't know quite what to say.

"The line's moving forward, Len," I managed at last. Oh, how romantic, Kahoko.

"So it is," he replied, chuckling. "Come on. We're almost to the front."

We sought a corner out of the wind as we looked for a place to open our fortunes, and found it on a bench in the Buddha's shelter.

"What does yours say?" I asked, unrolling the long, dragon-decorated strip that was mine.

He read it silently, as always, and suddenly his eyebrows furrowed.

"Eh? What's wrong?" I scooted over closely to peer over his shoulder.

He shrugged and rolled his back up. "Eh. Bad luck, apparently. Geez, I guess someone has to get it. Maybe I'll be stuck with the Guaneri for the rest of the year." He shot me a rakish grin.

"Oh, what a horror!" I laughed back at him, and glanced down at mine. "Eh? Uncertain luck, that's new...Sorrow and joy? Tears and laughter? Oh, for pity's sake! Maybe I'm reading it wrong."

Len took hold of one of the ends and read it carefully. At last, he shrugged again.

"It's just the language, I guess. Why can't they write these things in everyday Japanese, anyway? It's like trying to read 'Tale of Genji' in the original script."

"Eh, fortunes are just bilge anyway," I said, carelessly stuffing mine in my purse. "Ne, let's go look at the gate, okay? It's a huge gate for such a small temple."

Len burst out laughing as we approached the two red, snarling samurai statues, each about ten feet high, behind the netting of the gates that protected their centuries-old wood.

"Hey, where's your camera?" he asked, smiling, and throwing out his chest as he flexed his muscles in front of the grotesque temple guardians. "Oi, quick, I feel like a fool."

I laughed as I fished around in my purse. Frowning, I opened it and looked inside, then groaned.

"I left it in the States with Hihara-sempai...What'll I do? That was an expensive camera! My parents are going to kill me!"

"It's not the end of the world," Len said, still smiling but otherwise abandoning his pose. He took my hand, surreptitiously glancing about, even though nobody cared right now. "Where to next, my lady?"

Hehe...my lady...sounds like something Tsuchiura-kun would say...Oh, forget him!

I looked over at Len, still waiting my reply, and decided, It ends here. The deception, the division of my heart...I'm not going to be half-hearted about this anymore.

I want Len, and that's all.

.

It came beating down the street, rhythmic, ever so slightly ahead of the beat, hollow and steady, tum tum tum tum. Entwined came the pentatonic pattern of notes, ever restless, because there was no leading tone to give completion to the harmonic structure of the music, whistling from the wooden flutes. Behind came the procession of people, some carrying a wooden float with an ornately carved exterior, and a painted ceiling inside.

The music of my country has its own mystery, uniquely different from the hollow chants of the Roman chapels, or the sob-song of Chinese erhu, or the perfect, in-born harmony of the African tribes. It gives the outline, like our traditional paintings, and gives full meaning within a tiny structure, like our haiku, and it rests but continues unceasingly, like the breath of meditation.

"Let's follow," suggested Len, pulling me by the hand to join the milling bystanders at the end of the procession.

"Eh? Where does it go?"

"Who knows?" he said carelessly, grinning. Am I ever going to get tired of that grin?

It lead to a large lot of land, clear but for the crowd standing around. On the outskirts, the procession still beat the drums, played the flutes, and a different pounding came from the middle of the crowd. We pushed our way to the front to see what was going on.

Len winced.

"Yike."

"What? Haven't you ever seen mochi-making before?"

"Nope."

"You've been missing out, then."

"Don't really think so. I mean, everytime the guy reaches in and shifts the mochi, just before the other guy pounds it with the hammer, I cringe. What if he gets his hand smashed?"

"Oh, Len. You're always thinking about that. Come on, have some amazake."

He took the paper cup full of hot, sweet rice-wine from me, and took a sip. "Actually, this is the first New Year's that I've spent like this. Out in the streets, I mean. Usually my family goes straight to a temple first thing in the morning, and then we spent the rest of the day at home."

"What did you do at home?"

"Practice." He winked at me, and I giggled.

"That's so you."

"Yup. What do you usually do?"

"Oh, this sort of thing, but usually I hang out with Mio and Nao. I wonder how they're doing," I mused.

He watched me out of the corner of his eye, though he was still apprehensively watching the mochi-pounding. "I'd like to meet them."

"Who?"

"Your friends." He gave my hand a squeeze.

That's...incredibly sweet. Who are you, and what have you done with my ice-prince? "I'm sure they'd like to meet you. Ne, want to get some mochi?"

He gave another narrow-eyed look at the two guys, one swinging a huge, wooden hammer over his head, and the other dodging in to shift the white, sticky mass in the large hollow wooden bowl that sat on the ground. "Thanks, I'll pass," he deadpanned.

"Well then, what next?"

He thought for a minute, looking around at the snow that was starting to fall more heavily, creating little mountains on the heads and shoulders of the people standing around watching the mochi-making, and then he winked at me.

"Back to the ryōkan?" he suggested.

.

The snow continued to fall that evening, even when the sun yawned and retired for the night, down upon the winter-green branches of the pines, melting in the pools that trickled one to another, heaping the stone steps of the tea-garden, even covering the string-tied stone that said "No further!" on the off-branching paths. The light streaming out from the low paper-lanterns illuminated its falling, even when it joined its kin on the ground and was no longer distinguishable, flake from flake.

The thin paper walls of the shōji doors did little to keep the cold from penetrating in, stealing across the tatami floors and creeping up the walls to bite the ikebana and painted wall-hanging in the tokonoma. But at the futons it went no further. It stayed a respectful distance, and as a result, we did not notice the chill air.

The clouds began to dissipate later on, after dinner, when the two of us were full and content, and lay next to each other, just holding hands, talking and laughing. Presently the moon began to shine upon the still snow-covered garden, and flooded the room with silver.

"Another full moon," Len commented. "Do you want to look at it tonight?"

At present I was nice and warm, snuggled under the blankets and sharing his body heat, but it seemed too romantic a prospect to pass up. "Sure," I said, squeezing his hand and looking over to smile at him.

He smiled and squeezed back.

"Are you cold?" he asked, a little later, as we stood just outside our room, still sharing the same blanket.

I shook my head. "No, not when I'm with you."

"Me neither. It makes me think ahead, you know? Sharing like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Warm music...warm house...warm feelings, and friends, and food." He winked at me again. "Come to think of it, are you a decent cook?"

I tossed my head slightly. "Yes," I answered dignifiedly.

"I want to try it, sometime soon." He kissed the top of my head and rested his chin on top of it.

My toes started tingling with warmth, running up my legs into my stomach. "What should I make for you first?"

"Hm...how about spaghetti?"

Oh, you would pick something Italian. "You'll have to show me."

He laughed softly into my hair. "That sounds fun. You, me, a kitchen, boiling water and noodles."

"Noodle fight."

"Noodle fight."

We started laughing at the thought.

"Len?"

"Mm?"

"Do you believe in fate?"

"Hm..." He sighed softly, introspectively. "If fate exists, it's been kind to me," he said.

"Ne, earlier on, at the shabu-shabu place..." I hesitated. Do I ask what he was going to say? I have the feeling it wasn't "I love it too."

I felt him get ever so slightly stiffer. Apprehensive, maybe. "Yes?"

Erk. Maybe he's not comfortable enough to say it yet. "...Nevermind."

I felt him relax again. "Okay. The moon's beautiful, isn't it."

"Yes, it is." I wasn't thinking about the moon, though.

Because a happy, very dear thought had started to spring up in my heart. Another happy thing to come. Magic words, more precious than music.

I'll be patient and let them come when it's right. I won't force him. There's time, after all. One of these days, he'll open his heart completely to me.

Oh, I can't wait for that day!

"Len?"

"Yes?"

"I'm getting cold."

"Okay. Let's go in."

"Can we play 'Ave Maria' tonight?"

He paused, sliding the door open and waiting for me to enter. "Well...actually, I had something else in mind..."

"Another piece?" I asked as I stepped into the room, him closing the door behind us.

Three heart beats. One...two...three...

I started to turn back to ask again, but I didn't get the chance. I suddenly found myself being tackled to the futon, landing softly on my back.

He grinned at me devilishly from where he knelt above me. "Nope."

"Tomorrow then?" I persisted, as he started landing kisses on my forehead, working his way down to my neck.

"Tomorrow," he promised, finding my collarbone and pushing aside the fabric of my yukata to kiss my bare shoulders.

I shivered as the cold air wisped the moist places his lips left behind on my skin. "And the day after that?"

"More music."

There would always be more music.

**Author's Notes:**

The End! Well, sort of. This is the "alternate ending" where those of you who are just reading this for Len-Kahoko romance can leave off happy.

If it seems unfinished, it's because there's more to come. But I can't guarantee that everyone will be happy with the progression. Continue at your own risk! (I've always wanted to say that...)

**Edit:**Due to various now-unveiled occurrences in the sequel, it's perfectly fine for Len-Kahoko fans to continue reading...as long as you also dive into the sequel, "The Secret of the Guarneri".

Also, I don't endorse...you know what...before marriage. I'm not particularly judgemental about it, but I'm not saying, "Go out and do it, and the world will magically change into butterflies and rainbows before your eyes!" This chapter is like this because the two of them are hormone-charged teenagers who are blissfully free from any cautious eye and are living it up as a result. Sorry if I'm offending anyone, and quite frankly I thought more than once about going back and rewriting it...but I couldn't resist and so...

Translations: (oh, heavens...)

Shabu-shabu: traditional Japanese hot-pot, with thin sliced meat and vegetables, self-cooked in a heated pot at the table

Mochi: traditional New Year's rice-cakes, made by pounding sticky rice and then adding a topping like daikon radish.

Shoji: sliding paper doors

Ikebana: traditional flower arrangements

Tokonoma: a raised platform for mounting decorations like ikebana or scrolls


	20. Chapter 20

Movement 20: F sharp mol

"Good morning."

Somehow, I think I ended up with the earliest riser in the kingdom of early risers. Someday I think I'll tie him to the bed so that I can actually wake up next to him for once.

I crept out of the futon, under the amused gaze of the already up, showered, and dressed Len, and shivered on some clothes. "Remind me again why we're getting up so early?" I asked, still rubbing my eyes awake.

He clipped shut the buckles on his suitcase and eyed my bags suspiciously, as though doubting that I could manage to get everything repacked in time. "We're catching the shinkansen to Kyōto, remember?"

Oh, yeah. Something about Len's almost religious tendency to go pay his respects to as many musical kami as possible after the new year, which tended to lead him toward Kyōto...anyone's guess why, it's not like it's the shrine and temple capital of Japan or something like that...

But as for myself, I was really excited to go. I hadn't been to Kyōto since junior high, when Mio, Nao and I went together. That was a nostalgic trip. We'd spent all of our cash up at the shops lining the way to the Silver Pavilion, and didn't have any left to catch a bus to our hotel to get more. So we'd had to walk the entire way...and to make matters worse, the weather had decided to put on a cap of freezing rain that evening.

Something told me I wouldn't run into that problem with Len, though. Particularly not since he was in his usual "efficient and businessness-like crisp" mood this morning...with a little hint of sweet understanding that had started to bloom during our trip together.

As we took a train from Niigata to the nearest shinkansen station, my phone started to ring. Vaguely embarrassed, I checked the ID before opening the phone up.

Of course. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Sweetie. Are you back in Japan?"

"Yeah, we got in a couple of nights ago."

"A couple of nights ago, huh? Where have you been staying?" Uh oh. I hope her "mom" radar doesn't go up. Particularly not on the train. That would be rather humiliating.

Quick! Change the subject!

"So now we're going to spend few days in Kyoto, before the new semester starts," I said cheerfully.

My mother was not overly happy with the proposal.

"Kahoko, sweetie, you've been out this entire time. We haven't even had a day of you since you left for school."

"But Mom..."

"No buts, Kahoko."

"But..."

"No buts."

"...Len really has to go visit Kyōto. It's very important to him to do it first thing of the new year."

"Len can go to Kyōto by himself this time, and you guys can go together next time."

"But Moooom..."

"No buts, Hino Kahoko. I miss you like crazy, and family is more important than boyfriends."

Grrr. I looked over at Len, who raised his eyebrows as if to say, "You're not going to win this one, and you know it, and it'll go better for us if you throw in the towel now."

He's right and I know it. "Fine," I yielded at last. "Will Onee-chan be back?"

"Hm...that's hard to say, she's really busy right now..." Mom mused.

"Kahoko, we're at the station. We need to get off right away," came Len's voice, and I jumped at the opportunity to end the phone call, anyway.

"Gotta go, Mom. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Thanks, Sweetie. I love you."

"I love you, too. I can't wait to see you again."

I felt a little heart-pang as Len and I bought our tickets, two shinkansen tickets in opposite directions. Frankly, I just didn't want to say goodbye to him, not even for two days. There had been too many goodbyes.

But a goodbye just means another "hello" is waiting, right?

Len's train was leaving first, so we waited at his platform where it was waiting, and spent those ten minutes or so thinking of excuses for him not to board. His excuses took the vein of "need to give her a last few tips on practicing because she's been slacking off."

"Don't forget to practice," he said sternly. "You've missed a lot of time recently, and it'll show up if your not careful."

"I will."

"And you really need to correct how you hold your bow. Lightly, remember? I didn't notice any difference when we played together in Italy. Did you even practice what I told you last time?"

Sigh. Back to my old Len, afterall. I guess you really can't change a guy overnight. Oh well. Was that really what I was expecting?

The clock above our heads ticked dangerously near to departure time.

"I'll miss you," he said, hugging me ever so briefly, but so tightly that I could feel him shaking. Oh, I wish I could kiss you goodbye! But here on the platform, this is all we can do.

He released me as the train conductor made an impatient gesture, and backed away toward the train with his luggage. As he did so, I remembered that we hadn't had the chance to play together that day like I'd hoped.

"Ne, Len!" I called out as he stepped on board the train. He paused and poked his head out.

I started to hum "Ave Maria". He smiled and began to hum the beautiful harmony even as he ducked his head back inside the train since the doors were closing.

The train whisked him away so fast that I hardly had time to wave.

I sighed and hugged myself, suddenly aware of what it meant to be alone in a train station. And how heavy my bags were, now that I had to carry them all myself.

"Geez...maybe Usa has a point about not shopping," I grumbled, hoisting my bags up the stairs to get to my own platform, where the Shinkansen would take me back to Tokyō.

I couldn't wait to see him again.

.

The shinkansen moves like lightning, carrying me away from my love, across snowy valleys, through modern suburbs, scenes passing like postcards blowing in the wind.

Outside the window, I can see the Daruma dolls with both eyes finally open, burning in heaps along the road. Wishes made and granted. Goals set and accomplished. Old-fashioned, but effective. And now they burned.

Beethoven's 9th symphony is playing over the speaker phones, and I wonder how many people are actually listening.

Soon I'll be home.

.

"They changed the rug," I mused, taking off my shoes in the genkan and taking a deep breath. I'd never noticed how strongly the scent of seaweed pervaded my house. Of course, I'd never been away from home so long before. I hadn't even been back the entire year.

I set down my bags and tiptoed into the kitchen, intending to surprise my mom.

"Did you have a good time?" my mother asked, without turning around from where she was chopping vegetables on the block in the kitchen. Fooey. I forgot that all moms have eyes on the back of their head.

I took off my coat and laid it on the back of a chair. Frankly, I can't say that the entire time was all that pleasant. Apart from the last bit back in Japan. "Yes, I had a blast!"

"See, I told you it would be a good experience."

Oh, yes. From what I remember, it was something along the lines of, "Well, Hino Kahoko, if you don't manage to get yourself killed, robbed, carried off by an Arabian shiek, or get food poisoning, I suppose it'll be a good experience for you."

No comment. "Thanks, I'm going to go unpack now."

She waved the knife she was holding in my direction. "Okay, sweetie. Take your time. It's great to have you back, hun. Oh, wait, Kahoko." I paused on the steps and turned back. "Your friends Amou Nami and Mori Manami have been calling. Apparently they couldn't get through to you while you were in Europe. Anyway, I took the liberty of inviting them over for the evening. Is that okay?"

As much as I was looking forward to seeing the two of them again, I had to admit I'd really been more looking forward to relaxing in my room for a bit first. "Thanks," I said.

"Oh, wait, one more thing." I tried to hide my impatience as Mom washed her hands and came to walk up the stairs with me, trying her hands off on her apron. "Remember? I have a big surprise for you." She opened the door and gestured magnanimously for me to enter ahead of her.

Mystified and also curious, I walked in and stopped short in the middle of the room.

You know how parents can think they're doing you a great favor, and it's just a huge headache? This...thing...that has invaded my precious sleeping area, is a prime example.

"Isn't it great, Kahoko?" my mom sang happily. "I heard somewhere that all good musicians need to learn the piano, so when my friend Haruki told me that she'd inherited this upright but didn't have anywhere to put it, it seemed to good to be true! Can you play anything?"

I sat down and marched through "Snug as a Bug in a Rug." Ugh. My mother still stood there, with her eyes closed, as though she'd enjoyed it. Parents are the worst critics. Either they're way too hard on you, or they love everything you do.

I gave her a huge smile anyway and hugged her. "Thanks, Mom. It'll help me a lot." Once it's actually in tune, perhaps.

She beamed at me satisfiedly, and I repressed my habitual urge to "take her down a bit" that had arisen as a result having to check my full-of-herself roommate.

"In any case, settle in, unpack, take a bath...lunch will be ready soon..." She sighed. "Oh, Kahoko. It feels so empty when you're not here. Come on down when you're ready, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mom." As she left, closing the door behind her, I flopped down on my pink-blanketed bed.

For some reason, it felt like I didn't even live here anymore. Just that I was spending another night at a hotel, only to pack and get out the next day.

If so, where was home for me now?

.

"KAHOKO-CHAN!"

"EEEK!"

My cry of alarm ended abruptly as two magnetically charged objects hurled themselves at me and crushed me in an enormous three-way hug.

AKA: Enter Mori-san and Nami.

Nami's expression was as mischievous as ever, plus the added smugness of a recently won award for journalism from her college of choice, a prestigious Tokyō institute specifically for creative writing and photography. "Ne, ne, Kahoko, how have you been? I heard you went abroad with Tsukimori-kun." Her eyes squinted slightly as she grinned and asked, "So...anything interesting happening between you and the 'Young Violinist of the Year'? You were alone with him all that time, weren't you?"

As straight to the point as ever, Nami. I was rescued from a reply as Mori-san said, laughing, "Besides that, how are you doing with the violin, Kahoko? I've sure missed accompanying for you."

"I've missed having you as an accompanist," I laughed back at her. Mori-san had been very different from Usa, that's for sure. She was always steady, dependable, lacking a little of the vivid sparkle that Usa had in her playing, but then she was also less likely to suddenly change the mood of a song on a whim.

Where was that girl, anyway? She wasn't answering my calls...

"Sit down, sit down," I begged them, feeling my back starting to break from the as-yet-uninterrupted hug. As they complied, prying themselves off of me like starfish from a mussel, I said, "I'll be right back with some tea."

As I started the hot pot and drew a deep breath, I could hear the two of them out in the living room, chatting.

"So the two of them were really out there with no chaperone, eh?" Mori-san asked Nami, who replied, "That's what I heard! Ehh...so mature, huh?" They both laughed. Sheesh. Like a couple of obaa-chans gossipping about the love-lives of their grandchildren.

Well, it's partly true, I guess. But if Len's father hadn't stepped in, it's likely that Len's manager would have adamantly followed us to the ends of the earth.

I took the tea strainer out of the pot and decided, I'll try to keep the conversation away from that particular topic, thank you.

"Is green tea okay?" I asked as I set the tray of pots and cups on the coffee table in front of the couch they were sitting at.

"Hai."

"Anyway, Mori-san, how are you doing? I haven't heard where you're going to college yet," I asked quickly.

"Ah...I'm actually studying interior design," she told me, "but don't worry! I'm still keeping up with my music!"

"Sou desu ka...Why did you change to interior design? It seems like such a waste, since you were a music student in high school."

Mori-san shrugged. "Not really. Like I said, I'm still keeping up with music. It's just that...I don't know, I've been doing piano my entire life, but I'm not really interested in doing it full time, you know? I mean, I've never been the type who isn't happy unless she's on the stage all the time. I went through with it in high school because my parents wanted me to, but now I have other things I'm interested in. You're lucky, Kahoko."

"Eh?"

"Because music is something that you started yourself, you know. No one pressured you into it, and you've been continuing on your own volition."

Well, technically that's not true, I thought, thinking back to Lili and how I'd reacted when he insisted I participate in the concours. But it was my own choice to continue. I couldn't imagine never playing again, I just couldn't.

Actually, come to think of it, I couldn't imagine doing anything but music. The thought shocked me. Without realizing it, music had become the most important thing in my life. Mori-san may be happy without standing on a stage...but I couldn't be anymore!

Would it be like this if it weren't for Tsukimori-kun? Or Tsuchiura-kun?

Either? Both? Did it even matter?

My two friends watched amusedly as my expressions changed with the flow of my thoughts. "Um...Kahoko? Earth to Kahoko!" Nami said with a grin, waving her hand in front of my face.

"Eh?" I came out of my reverie startledly.

The two of them laughed good-naturedly. "You've always been like this, huh?" Nami continued. "Spacing out...deep in thought. Maybe that's why Tsukimori-kun was attracted to you to begin with?"

I blushed madly, taking a sip of too-hot tea. "It has nothing to do with that! Anyway, you have a boyfriend now, don't you, Nami?"

Nami took out her cellphone and showed us her welcome screen. "Ah...gakkoi!" squealed Mori-san, grabbing it from her. "What's his name?"

"Shirokawa Tōji. He's great, isn't he? Plus, his dad is a VP for the Tokyō Times." Nami beamed, and she and Mori-san closed their eyes and sighed moonily.

"Ooh, I get it," I said at her coyly. "You're just looking for opportunities, huh?"

She tossed her head, rolling her eyes. "How can you say that? Just look at him. He's hot, smart, has a terrific sense of style and humor..."

"Why is it that style comes before humor?" The three of us laughed together.

"Ne, ne," Nami was not to be dissuaded from her chosen topic. "Sooo...what did happen between you and Tsukimori-kun when you went abroad?" She and Mori-san both leaned forward with gleaming eyes.

Yeesh. You're like a blood hound. I feel like a fox, anyway. "Um...well...we went to Rome, and we saw the Colleseum, and he played Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto with the Philharmonic there, and then we went to the States and saw Hihara-sempai and his girlfriend and..."

Mori-san tsked at me. "Come now, spare the boring stuff. We want details! Juicy details! Have you kissed yet?"

"Or more?" Nami insinuated slyly.

Uh oh. I'm pretty sure that that shade of green that just slipped around the corner is exactly the shade of skirt my mom was wearing earlier.

"Sooo..." prompted Mori-san.

"Ah! I almost forgot! Snacks! I need to grab some snacks!" I said hastily, getting up and dashing to the kitchen.

Out in the living room, Mori-san asked Nami, "Shall we leave her alone for now?"

"Aww...Manami, can't we tease her a little longer?"

"Eh, you know Kahoko. She's the oblivious type, after all. Give her a break."

Nami pouted audibly. "Taking all the fun out of it."

I emerged, admittedly a little disgruntled at their taking advantage of me. "Snacks," I announced unnecessarily.

"Hey, Kahoko," laughed Mori, "now that you're with Tsukimori-san, what about...um...you know..." Her cheeks suddenly got very pink, and as she looked away from me, Nami gave me a wink.

"Tsuchiura-kun," she prompted, and Mori's cheeks got even rosier.

Tsuchiura-kun...

His smile came back to me vividly, just hearing the name. The way his hands were so huge compared to mine. The scent of his cologne, like a park after the rain.

Some things don't change overnight, after all. Here I have Len, I don't want anything else but him, and I know that but...

I didn't know what to say to Mori-san's expectant gaze, I really didn't. It's not like I thought it was a bad idea for the two of them to be together but...

_I still didn't like it._

"Well that...might be a lost cause..." I said, fishing about in the flushed toilet whirls of my brain. "I mean...he's sort of...kind of...likes my roommate..."

I can't believe I just said that. I just outright lied. Why?

Mori made a little sound with her mouth that resembled a disappointed mew. "Ah well," she said, as Nami patted her on the back comfortingly. "It was always one-sided anyways. Although I'm surprised, you know."

"Eh?"

"That he was able to get over you. I didn't think it was possible."

"What?" My face flushed furiously.

What the hell is wrong with you, Kahoko? You have the man of your dreams already? Why this? Why now?

Love is a mysterious thing. In more ways than one.

.

"Don't be stranger, okay?" Nami said, hugging me goodbye, as she and Mori-san put their shoes back on. "And do give me the scoop on how you and Tsukimori-kun are doing, okay? You can even call me, if you want." She winked.

I sighed and gave in. "Eventually. Good luck with your studies, you two."

"Thanks! You, too!" they chimed together.

I waved them out the door, the two of them still laughing and gossipping. Oh, they're incorrigibly unchangeable, aren't they?

"Kahoko, would you come help me with dinner?" my mom's voice came from inside.

"Coming," I said, though honestly I didn't feel like it at the moment. "How can I help?

"Would you please rinse this rice for me?" I rolled up the navy-blue sleeves of my sweatshirt and began running my hands through the hard rice and water.

Scarcely had I finished when my phone buzzed on the kitchen table. "Hey, a message from Len," I said happily, and dove for it. My mom gave me a quizzical look, but left me alone, adding cabbage and carrots to the stirfry.

I opened my cellphone and merrily read his message:

Just paid my dues to Beizanten. I wish you were here, too. Kyōto is really crowded right now.

I texted back:

I bet. I wish I were there, too. Make a wish for me to one of the music dieties, okay?

Okay. I'll call you tomorrow.

I can't wait.

("Tadaima!" "Okaeri nasai, Onee-chan! Kahoko's back! She's in here!" "Ehh? Kaho-chan?")

I snapped the cellphone shut and held it to my heart, closing my eyes in bliss at just getting the message from him. I hurried out of the room so that Mom and Onee-chan couldn't see my face heating up. Nami's teasing had brought to mind some very, very nice memories, warm memories that sizzled in my mind like the vegetables in the pan.

Him shaking. Me shaking.

Hasty hands, unsure, unexperienced, but desirous.

Curves moulding into curves.

I have the feeling that all through dinner, Onee-chan and Mom were staring at me peculiarly. I can't blame them. I probably had a really dreamy look on my face.

Wouldn't you?

.

The next day, the sky was clear. Sunshine glowed a welcome off the black paint of the piano glaring at me from the corner.

Somehow, the night had seemed empty and dark, without Len.

Onee-chan teased me straight until lunch. "Ne, Kaho-chan," she cooed, "how's your boyfriend doing? I want to meet him! Bring him over as soon as he gets back."

"If he has time," I answered coolly. "He's a professional musician, you know. It's not like he has a lot of time."

She pouted at me. "Stingy."

I narrowed my eyes at her. "Oh, I see how it is. You just want to see a hot guy for once. Do you have any attractive guys where you work?" Oi! That was harsh, Kahoko.

She made a face that told me I'd hit it on the spot. "Can you blame me? There was this one guy...the one I told you about last spring...that was decent, but he got transferred to Hokkaido. What a place to be transferred to...and of course we didn't want to carry on the relationship." She giggled a little and winked. "Now you understand what I'm talking about, right?"

Mom raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Exactly what do you mean by that, Onee-chan?" (I still haven't figured out why she calls Onee-chan "Onee-chan" and not by her name. She doesn't go around calling me "Imouto-chan".)

Onee-chan colored slightly. "Nothing. Really."

The degree of suspicion as indicated by Mom's right eyebrow increased. "Nothing, really?"

My cell phone chose that momentous moment to ring. Halleluia, Len, you're my savior. I snatched it up and dodged out of the room.

I smoothed down my hair and patted my turquoise turtleneck, smiling into the phone as his voice came to me.

Kahoko.

Len. How's Kyōto?

It's fine. Busy, but it always is. I'm headed to the subway station now.

What's your next stop?

Sanjusangendō. I'm going to pay my respects to the three Hindu dieties of music there. And also...

...Eh?

...Nothing. I'm bringing my violin with me there.

Why?

I'll tell you later.

Sounds mysterious.

It's not something I can tell you over the phone. Kahoko...I...there was something I wanted to say...

And me, too!

(Pause)

You first.

No, you.

Ah, the train's coming in. There aren't any cell phones allowed in Sanjusangendo, so I'll text you when I'm out, okay?

Okay. Len?

Yeah?

_I want to say I love you. I want to so bad right now. But I'll wait until I see you face to face, and then I'll tell you._

I can't wait to see you again.

You too. Bye.

Bye.

.

It's been an hour, and Len still hasn't called. Well, Sanjusangendō is pretty awesome. It's just taking him awhile to get through it. Or maybe his cell phone battery died. I'll just wait a little longer.

.

It's been three hours. Surely he's gotten back by now? Did something unexpected pop up? I'll practice piano for a bit.

.

Still nothing. Not even a text. I feel like forever since the last time I heard from him, and it's only been five hours.

My cell phone rang on the top of the piano lid, the sound vibrating the song "Ave Maria" through the wood, into the strings. I snatched it up. "Len?"

"Kahoko."

"Misa-san?" Something did happen, after all. I hope it's not his manager again.

"Kahoko, listen, I need to talk to you in person. It's..." Her voice broke off, and she took a sharp inhalation of breath.

Something about that little intake of air froze the blood in my veins. "Misa-san. What's wrong. Misa. Misa! Tell me!"

"Kahoko, I need to tell you in person, come to my house quickly..."

"MISA!" My voice rose to a scream, a little, terrified shriek that filled the room and made the piano strings vibrate because, unconsciously, I'd set my foot on the sustain pedal. The sound of 88 notes in their tinny buzz faded and died while Misa-san struggled on the other end.

"It's Len, it's Len, isn't it? What happened? Where is he?"

"He's...gone, Kahoko. There was an accident, down at the subway, a couple of stops up from Kyoto Sta...oh, God! Kahoko, come to me now, come quickly..." Her voice broke off into hysterical sobs.

I could not cry.

There was no sensation left in my body. The world turned black and left me behind completely.


	21. Chapter 21

Movement 21: F mol

"Kahoko. Kahoko, wake up darling."

"Len," I murmured, without opening my eyes. "I'm here, don't leave me, stay here a little longer until I wake up."

"Kahoko. Len's not here right now. He's still in Kyoto, remember? You fell asleep while practicing. I told you you work too hard. Come on down and eat dinner." I opened my eyes and looked up at my mom. My violin bow was still in my hand, where I had fallen onto the closed key cover.

That's right, Len is still in Kyoto. He said he'd call me when he got back to his hotel. I checked my phone for new messages. Maybe he called while I was asleep.

Why are all these from Misa-san?

"Hey, are you coming? I made sukiyaki tonight."

"Yeah, just a minute. I have to call someone back."

"Okay, but hurry up. Sukiyaki's no good cold."

I yawned and dialed Misa's number. The phone had barely rung by the time it connected.

"Hello, Misa-san? I got a whole bunch of messages from you, but I haven't listened to them yet..."

"Kahoko. Don't you remember our phone call?"

"Phone call?" The dream? What a bad, bad dream.

"Oh, Kahoko, pretending isn't going to change anything." How can that be Misa-san's voice? Shaking, so tired, so hoarse, so hopeless.

"Len...is...dead..."

"Yes," she answered dully.

Realization was there, should I choose to accept it.

"I don't believe it. I can't believe it."

"It's so hard, dear." How can you be saying such things when I can hear from your voice that you're dying inside, too?

"Kahoko? Come down for dinner, please."

I hung up the phone and turned it off and went down for dinner. I wouldn't accept realization yet. I couldn't. It was a dream, and I was still waking.

I couldn't eat. Or rather, I tried a mouthful and ran to the bathroom, where I threw it all up.

My mom put her hand on my back as I knelt, panting, over the toilet.

"Yes, you've been working too hard, definitely," she said, putting a hand on my forehead. "See, you've got a fever. You should head up and get more sleep." Mechanically, I got up and walked up, slowly, to my bedroom. Were there always this many stairs? My feet felt like lead, and I stopped in the middle of the staircase and looked up blankly at a blank ceiling. Was it always so high up there? How long have I lived so high above the ground?

I continued to walk up the stairs and opened the door to my room and went and lay down.

I lay there, in my bed, and looked up at the ceiling again. I couldn't sleep. Didn't want to go back to that dream. Never again. I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my face in the pink down comforter. Maybe Usa was right about the color pink. Right now it was just so ugly and cheerful and bright. Who needed that sort of color?

I lay there for what seemed hours, the lights off but the orange glow of the sunset casting dimly across the room horizontally until it faded and the street lights came on.

Len is still in Kyoto. He'll call soon, I just have to be patient. Just a little longer.

At around 10, my mom came in and pulled the blankets over me. I pretended to be asleep.

At two o'clock my legs started to feel itchy, so I got up and walked out of my room, down the stairs, down the hall, outside, with bare feet.

The street lights are on, but the city is sleeping. Who needs lights to be on when nobody's around? The traffic lights are still working, switching from red to green. Nobody is driving. It's three days after New Year's, and nobody is driving to temples or burning bonfires or eating mochi, because we've all burned ourselves out, the last three days. Japan is tired of the New Year already.

My feet are numb. It has nothing to do with the cold.

And Len is gone.

He's gone.

It's not a dream. I'm not awake, I'm not asleep, I'm not anything, I'm just here, in this world that is sleeping but alive, and still moving, still rotating around the Sun. And we're worshipping gods that we don't believe in, but we're afraid that if we stop, they'll be real, and they'll come out and get us.

I don't want to exist anymore. I don't want to die, because I'm afraid that there'll actually be an afterlife, and maybe Len won't be there, and maybe I'll continue on forever in an existence without him. I don't want to live, because I know he's not here. I felt it, from the moment I didn't say I love you but should have, that I'd never see him again.

My brain keeps saying it could all be a sick joke, and maybe I'd go over to see Misa-san and she and Len would both be there laughing, and confused that I didn't get it, but my heart knows the truth, and he's gone.

I can't take it.

I ran, with no shoes, in a country where outside was dirty and inside was clean, to a place that I didn't know of, because forward momentum was the only way to forget where I currently was.

I stumbled and fell, because my feet were numb and I couldn't feel the bumps along the narrow sidewalks. I landed on my hands and knees roughly and stared down at the ground, ice crystals forming in the cracks of the pavement. I looked up. There was a temple wall in front of my face.

Maybe if I make this petition of Buddha, he will grant it.

I got up and made my way into the temple, passing the bell, staring up blankly at the wooden stairs and closed doors. The doors were shut. Buddha wouldn't listen to me at this hour, because Buddha is only awake when the monks are.

I wandered into the graveyard behind, crowded and upright. The dead slept like the living, just in miniature dwellings. We live with our families, in these tall, close-set houses, row by row, upright and honorable, just like everyone else around us. So unlike the graveyards in Italy, massive grave stones spread out all over the place, to give room for the full, laid out bodies of the dead.

Len was already gone, and soon his body would be, too. Soot and ashes, nothing but powder, and we'd put that in a little tray by a gravestone, and bring things like flowers and left-over sweet-buns to honor the dead. Honor. What did that matter, now? But I thought, One last time. I just want to see him one last time.

I started to run to the Tsukimori house.

.

I rang the door bell, and for the first time I was aware of the cold. I hugged myself tightly and breathed out puffs of visible air. Maybe Misa-san was already asleep. I didn't know where Len's father was right then, but I knew he wasn't in Japan.

A light switched on inside. The door opened, and Misa-san stood there, with the light streaming out into the darkness from behind her, and stared at me blankly for a couple of seconds. Then she grabbed me and pulled me inside and collapsed to her knees, holding me with her face buried in my stomach, just sobbing.

I still couldn't cry.

Minutes passed, to the ticking of the tall grandfather clock, wherever it was, and after awhile Misa-san sighed and sat back, head bent, hands folded in her lap.

"Len is dead."

"Len is dead."

You may wonder, O Reader, who said it first. I don't even remember. It doesn't matter.

"I want to see him before the cremation. Just once, please."

"His body is unrecognizable, Kahoko."

"I don't care."

"Just remember the way he was when you last saw him. You don't want to see the shape he's in now. Besides, we couldn't get in to the undertaker at this hour, and in the morning the process will happen."

I sank down myself, now, onto the floor with Misa-san, and looked at the floor numbly, finally becoming aware that the blood on my knees was staining the white carpet. I looked at my palms; they were in the same condition.

Misa-san suddenly became aware that I was clothed in nothing more than my knee-length skirt and sweater, and grabbed my hands to inspect them. "You fell on the way here, didn't you? You should take care of your hands. Music comes from these hands." I thought to myself, This is where Len's obsession came from. "Come and take a bath with me, and sleep here for the night. Musume-chan."

It's too late for that now, Misa-san. Your son is dead. He had no chance to make me your daughter.

As we sat, knee to knee together in the hot water, the steam rising up and making it hard to breathe, but easy to forget, she felt more like an older sister than a mother. Both of us were completely unable to handle the situation, and so we clung to each other, like two columns that arch together, leaning toward each other lest they collapse. She wasn't even trying to be strong right now, not that I could blame her, and I wasn't even able to get to the point where I could mourn the same way she did.

I lay awake in the guest room, a room that had never been lived in, only slept in, and, at about six am, I got up in the dark and searched each of the rooms in the hall, because I didn't know which one was his. I finally opened a door that led to a large, open room with a fern in the corner and little else except a bed with books on the nightstand, and a music stand next to the window.

I crawled into the bed, under the covers, and sought the last lingering scent on the sheets. He hadn't slept there since we'd left for Europe over a week ago, but it was still there. Thinly.

A couple of hours later, Misa-san came in and sat down on the bed next to me. She was already dressed for the day.

"I knew you'd be in here."

I couldn't respond. The pillow should have been wet, but it wasn't. What was wrong with me?

"The person who caused the accident called and wants to meet us."

I wanted to tear that person apart.

"Can you do it?"

I sat up and grabbed my hair with both fists, curling my toes under the sheets, drawing my knees up and burying my face in them to hide the fact that I hadn't shed a tear all night long.

"Yes."

.

"Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes." My voice was like a recording of a windup doll. I'd always been a windup doll, anyway, painted smile and cheerful catchphrases.

"I called your mother this morning. She was just about frantic to find you missing, but she understood when I explained to her. She said you could stay here as long as you needed to, or go home when you needed to."

I sat on the couch and looked blankly at the picture of little Tsukimori-kun behind the glass doors of the CD case.

I'd never thought about it before, but if we'd had children someday, they would look like that. Tiny and adorable, with serious eyes.

I heard a taxi drive up outside.

The door opened, and Len's murderer entered the room.

My hand, trembling in Misa-san's hands, squeezed impulsively, and I hardened my senses against pity or forgiveness.

She closed the door behind herself, looked around for a minute to take in her surroundings. Her eyes, almost closed by wrinkles, sparkled brightly behind her glasses, already starting to well with tears, maybe from the cold wind outside. Her stout, stooped form, clothed as it was in her best dress, carelessly chosen for long wear when she'd bought it, now carefully chosen as the most appropriate thing she had for the occassion, shook gently, and she steadied herself on her cane. Against her chest, she held, like a baby, Len's violin case; from her elbow dangled a large, thick purse.

This could be me in fifty years.

She crossed the room to our inquiring gazes and silence, and, reaching the couch, lowered herself slowly, then falling all at once. She took a deep breath and set the violin case and purse onto the couch next to her, and then finally looked me in the face.

"I...I'm so sorry," she began. "This...this horrible thing that happened...I...I can't tell you, how awful it was, and how awful I feel now..."

She sighed deeply and clasped her gnarled and mottled hands together to stop their shaking.

"My name is Wasahara Rumiko. I was at Kyoto Station last Tuesday, waiting for the two o'clock train to Inari. I'd promised to meet my grandchild, Yumi, at the fox shrine, and..." She shook her head, stopping her hand from automatically reaching into her purse to take out what was probably a picture of her grandchild. The elderly do that, you know. It's what they've built their lives around, their families, so that there's nothing more important to them, and they forget that it's not the most important thing to other people, or maybe they think that their age permits them to indulgence, I don't know yet.

But Rumiko caught herself, because the moment wasn't right, and she continued with what I wanted to, needed to, hear about.

"The station was so crowded, you know, two days after New Year's and all that. You forget, at this age, how many people will be there. You forget to be careful. I'd set down my purse for a minute while I was waiting for the train; it was so heavy, full of souveneirs and gifts for family, you see. The train started to pull in. I thought I was lucky that I'd gotten there so early, because if you're at the back of the line, you might miss the train. It takes so long to get everyone on, so not everyone can, you know. Why are people so impatient? Life doesn't go anywhere fast." She stopped, as though waiting for a response, but I still couldn't say a word. Misa-san, in response for us both, nodded quietly, and she continued.

"The train started to pull in, and I bent over to pick up my purse. When I straightened back up, somebody behind me pushed forward strongly, and I lost my balance. The young man was very close to the front, but if I had only bumped him a little, it would have been okay. But I'm old, and slow, and heavy. I pushed him..." She broke off, choking on her words, and covered her face with her hands.

We waited, Len's mother and I. The imported grandfather clock ticked loudly in the background, the minute hand audibly shifting into place, several times. At last she looked up again, cheeks wet, not meeting my eyes.

"I pushed him..." She broke off again, recovered herself, and looked up straight at me. "Right over the edge. I tried to grab onto his bag, he was clutching it as if his life depended on it..." she turned and touched the violin case next to her, "but the handle popped right off, and he continued to fall, and the train, it came in so fast, and..."

I felt my chest start to swell even more, but the tears wouldn't come. Biting my lip, I released Misa-san's hand and leaned forward to grab both of Rumiko's hands in mine. The four of them trembled together like autumn leaves.

"I never even saw his face," she said.

And then the tears came at last, hot and furious, and I buried my face in our hands and just screamed. My heart came out through my voice, and ragged sobs, and another scream, and Rumiko leaned her forehead onto the top of my head and we cried together.

.

I started to blame the circumstances.

Why couldn't Len just buy a new case ages ago? I'd already told him it was practically falling apart. He'd fallen with just the handle, but if it was newer, he would have held onto it, gripping it firmly in those strong hands, and he wouldn't have fallen.

Why did he have to go at such a crowded time of day? Surely it would have been fine to go a few days after New Year's, when everyone had already paid their dues and were sitting at home waiting for blessings to rain down from the kami for all the five and ten yen pieces they'd dropped off carelessly at the shrines.

Why was he standing so close to the platform? It's not so bad to have to wait a little while. The train comes in, you try to shuffle to the head of the line, but there's not enough room so you wait another fifteen minutes for the next one. Big deal.

Why couldn't the accident have happened on the Karasume-Oike line, just two stops down and a transfer away from where he was? There were double doors on that line, doors on the train and doors on the platform, so this thing couldn't have happened. He had to go back to his hotel by that route, anyway. Why hadn't they already built those doors down at the route to Kyoto Station, which was so much more crowded, anyway?

Why hadn't I been with him? I should have been there. I shouldn't have left him.

Blaming the circumstances doesn't change anything.

It didn't stop the funeral from happening two days later. There was no viewing of the dead before the cremation, because, as Misa-san had said, there was nothing left of who we used to know. Len's father was there, and he and Len's mother stood still, side by side, as the Buddhist monk chanted, and the incense smoked, and the gravestone that was still decades and decades too early took its place among the Tsukimori family plot, along with his grandparents who had died together while we were still in high school. Of natural causes, after having lived a lifetime together, having accomplished a lifetime's amount together.

He had only gotten started in life. His sonata had only begun, and it was already over. Our relationship had consisted of days that could be counted on both hands.

The papers were full of it, here and abroad. I didn't read them. They made me sick. Here, have your one day of excitement, herald the loss of a brilliant musician with a promising future suddenly cruelly cut off by a tragic circumstance. Sell your front pages.

And tomorrow they will be recycled, or used to wrap fish, or burned up. And you will forget him, for all your eloquent, mournful words, because he is nothing more than a headline to you, you bastards.

I heard, "I'm so sorry, Kahoko" by so many well-meaning friends and relatives that it made me ill.

Usa called once, but didn't say anything, and I didn't either, and we wasted twenty minutes of phone time just not talking to each other.

Hihara-sempai called from the States and told me he was on his way back to Japan. I didn't want him to come. I knew what he'd say, and I didn't want to hear it.

Yunoki-sempai and Keiichi-kun both called briefly, but Yunoki-sempai just quoted a haiku by Bashou, and Keiichi-kun played for me on his cello.

Aoi-kun tried to be cheerful by not-so-subtly hinting that now that Len was gone, my heart was free again. I knew he meant well, but I was so furious that I hung up on him.

I haven't heard from Tsuchiura-kun yet. I wonder if he's heard about it yet. I don't even know where he is right now. Australia, perhaps?

The day after the funeral, I picked up my violin for the first time since the day of Misa-san's phonecall, and held it up and waited, waited for the bow to pull itself across the strings.

I just couldn't. It wasn't there. Because no music I could make could possibly describe how I was feeling.

**Author's Notes: **

I know! I'm sorry! I'm really sorry! But you can't say I didn't warn you...

Also, I purposely didn't answer any reviews this week, just to be mean. Did it work?

I'll just say this now, though: The idea for the entire story was centered around this from the beginning. Because there's so much emotion available, so many unanswered questions, from this type of plot, and these characters. Though I may be imperfect at conveying them, I want to try.

So! I know you're all angry at me, but fortunately you don't know my true identity (I hope) so any death-threats are in vain! (And also probably not funny at this point...)

At this point, you really do have to keep reading. To end it here would be really depressing. Deshou?

To note: eijilover18 brought up the "condom issue". Rest assured, they were used. Part of the point of that chapter actually is that Len has the sense to be able to tell between a moment of passion and "when it's right". Not that it's 100% security, but Kahoko WILL NOT be pregnant. I, the author, have decreed this.


	22. Chapter 22

Movement 22: E mol

The weekend arrived, unbusy for a change, and I ached to meet with Len, like before, trying to cram in a few hours when we both had time free.

But I'll never have to worry about that again. How I wish he were just too busy to see me today! I wanted to hear his voice again, testy and tired, telling me he had yet another concert, and that we'd have to find another weekend to meet. I miss the long, anticipatory weeks between seeing each other! At least I could call him back then!

But Saturday morning was grey and grim, and someone else was calling my cell.

I sighed before picking it up, the thought dully passing my conciousness that I hadn't seen this phone number in a long time.

"Hello?"

"Hino? This is Kanazawa. How are you doing?"

"...Fine."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Are you free today?"

Unfortunately, "Yes."

He "hmmed" pensively before elucidating, "I want everyone from 'that' concours to meet today, if possible. Hihara is back from the States, and I'd like to hold a short memorial service, maybe play some music, for Tsukimori. Do you know if Tsuchiura can come?"

"He isn't back yet from the soccer tournament." Though everyone else from the soccer team is by now.

"It's too bad, but Hihara is only here for a few days. I'm a bit surprised, actually, you know. That Hihara ended up in the States, but Yunoki stayed in Japan and continued with music. Do you know why?"

Come to think of it, Yunoki-sempai hadn't told me, even at his recital last summer. "No."

"Ma, ne. Anyway, can you come.?"

"Yes. What time?"

"Two in the afternoon is when everyone else is free."

"Okay." My voice sounded dull, though my heart was throbbing in pain.

"Great. Thanks. I'll see you then."

As I hung up, I closed my eyes, begging an image of Len to live behind my eyelids. His blue hair and serious eyes flickered briefly before my memory, and as they did so, twin tears spilled out from the corners of my eyes.

.

"It's been a long time, Kanazawa-sensei, Ousaki-san."

"Sou da ne. Genki desu ka?"

"..."

"Sorry."

"It's okay."

"Everybody's here? Thanks for meeting on such short notice. Okay? Let's go."

I purposely avoided everyone's gaze as the seven of us in black made our way down the mostly empty streets, down from the school where we'd congregated. I looked back over my shoulder at the bells, where everything had started, and could've sworn I saw a yellow-and-blue glimmer hovering between them. But Lili didn't come to say hi. I felt rather glad that he didn't, actually.

Only the wind, biting like steel teeth, spoke between us. Everyone's gaze was solemn, especially Hihara's, who looked downright miserable.

Keiichi and Fuyuumi-chan walked side-by-side ahead of me, not touching, not looking at each other, and though I felt grateful that they were being sensitive to my heartache, I could still sense the growing understanding and unsettled passion between the two of them.

Long may you be happy. Carry on the mutual love of music, that I will never be able to participate in.

Yunoki-sempai walked beside me, and without asking, as usual, he gently put his arm around my shoulders, tender and warm compassion emanating from him. For some reason, it was oddly comforting.

Perhaps there was one other person who could comfort me better...but he wasn't here today.

Better this way. I'm not ready to face him yet. Or ever, maybe?

We finally reached the temple where Len's grave was, stones as grey as the sky, under the maternal cover of evergreen trees, and spread out in a circle around it. Yunoki retained his post next to me; on the other side, Ousaki-san stood, his normal serene expression haunted with feelings of sorrow.

Now that we were finally here, Kanazawa-sensei, as usual, didn't know quite what to say.

"Ano...well, you all know why we're here," he said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Though I'm sorry that such an occasion is what brings us together today." He sighed and then said, simply, "To say goodbye."

He cleared his throat, and I noticed Ousaki-san's eyebrows raise slightly in surprise. And then Kanazawa-sensei let out a haunting music, in the voice Nami and I had listened to, two years ago, on a forgotten tape.

"Pie Jesu, domine/ Dona eis requiem..."

I felt a cold finger trace my spine as the notes Gabriel Faure penned a century ago floated on the wind, hollow but embrasing us all under the shadow of its winged notes.

We took a collective sigh after he'd finished and stood there, still in silence, remembering the day the music died.

It was our burden to carry it on. And yet, I have the feeling that, even between all of us, we couldn't quite shoulder the immensity of Len's dedication and zeal.

Had he taken on too much upon himself from the beginning?

Time passed softly, though Fuyuumi-chan eventually gave into the aura of grief and cried for us all on Keiichi's shoulder. Yunoki-sempai drew me fully into his arms, and Kanazawa-sensei came over and patted the top of my head. Though my eyes were burning, tears were too shallow for me at the moment, so I stood motionless, allowing my thoughts to numb over and grant me temporary peace in the shelter of their mute sympathy.

Eventually, they all left me behind, falling away one by one but leaving their comfort behind.

I approached the head stone gravely, squished as it was between his grandparents' and some other relative's, drawing a shaking breath as I knelt before it. It was mottled to look aged, dark spots on the rough marble, the carved characters for "moon" and "forest" pretending to have been eaten away by moss.

The freshness of his ashes inside mocked the appearance of the gravestone.

Sitting there, feeling my lips and hands starting to chaff red from the wind, I felt like I should say something, like they do in the movies. Something like, "Len, I wish I could tell you 'I love you'. I wish you were here with me, to say it to, and I'm so sorry..." but I couldn't.

So I just stared at the characters that made up his name. Tsukimori Len. Spelled with an "L". At one point it seemed a little funny. Now I wish I could pronounce "L", just to say it that way.

These feelings flutter like birds of fire in my chest, scorching me with pain. And I can't voice them, not even with my violin.

What more is wasted?

.

As I approached the gate on my way out, I realized that I had not been quite alone.

Hihara-sempai stood there, leaning against the wall like all his energy had been drained out, and his face wet, and asked, "Can I accompany you back, Kaho-chan?"

The cold wind suddenly got colder. "Yes," I replied. But a silver thread of dread had run through my body when I saw him there.

I don't want to hear it.

Hihara-sempai is too kind. He worries too much about other people. And so, he's going to do what he thinks best, even if he knows it will kill me inside.

I shivered and tried to pretend what was coming wasn't coming.

"How's Alice?" I asked listlessly, as we walked along the road, now fuller, people coming back from work. The streets buzzed with cars passing quickly by.

"She's fine," he said quietly. "She was very sad to hear about Tsukimori. So were her parents."

He sighed heavily, and I knew the implications of that sigh. Of what was going on through his head right now.

"It makes you think, doesn't it," he said quietly.

"Eh?"

"He spent every single one of his nineteen years making music. There was not a single day in which it was not the center of his being. He worked himself up to be a master musician, and with a single instant, all that hard work was suddenly gone."

"Wakata yo!" I started to feel anger bubble up inside of me. "Are you going to tell me all that was in vain, Hihara? Huh? That his performances were all just preparation for a goal that went unfulfilled?"

"Kaho-chan..." He put a hand on my arm to prevent me from pulling away. "Listen, please. This is very important. Don't let his death go by without taking warning from it."

"Warning? Which is?"

Hihara-sempai drew a deep breath, and then he opened the bag he'd brought with him. He pulled out two objects: my camera, and the family Bible that had been in Alice's house.

They both deepened the chills running down my spine already.

He watched me as I took the camera, listlessly. I searched through the photos as we walked along, on the tiny LCD screen, picture after picture.

I already knew what was on there; pictures of me and my friends, and of Tsuchiura-kun, and of the Colleseum in Rome, of Hihara-sempai and Alice. Happy memories, laughing and chatting, taking a picture so that the moment would bring up happy warm nostalgia later on.

Why did Len and I never take pictures of us together? Did we take our being together forever for granted, assuming that as the years progressed, we would still have the images of each other, greying and wrinkling though they were, before our eyes?

I felt older now, much older, looking back and scolding my younger self. Bad Kaho-chan. You should have known better.

My thumb, listlessly clicking the little arrow, suddenly paused. It was the picture of me and Tsuchiura-kun from Azuma-sempai's recital.

Guilt swelled up in me, as though I was going to burst. How could you, Kaho-chan? How could you.

"Ne. You okay?" I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into Hihara-sempai's face, writ with concern.

I shrugged off his hand. "I'm fine," I assured him ironically.

He caught my gaze, and in his eyes was a sense of wry understanding. "What else is bothering you?"

Silence.

He sighed, and made to open the Bible . Instinctively, I put my hand over his quickly.

He looked up again. "You know, for years I would have given my trumpet to have you do that."

I shivered and withdrew my hand. "I know." You were the only one who was ever that transparent around me for a long time.

He paused, looked at me for confirmation, and at my reluctant admission, he opened the book.

"I don't know how much you know about Christianity."

"Enough."

"Good. Then I'll make this short. The Bible says that the only way to salvation is through Jesus Christ."

Rage came to a boil in me.

"What's the use," I said bitterly, "of a guy who raised the dead 2000 years ago, when he can't do it today?"

"Listen, just listen. Kaho-chan. According to this book, Tsukimori is in hell..."

SMACK!

He recoiled slightly, though perhaps my palm stung more than his cheek. "BAKA!" I screeched at him. "How dare you suggest such a thing?"

"Kaho-chan..."

I decided another slap was redundant, and I quickly sidestepped him to cross the street.

"NO!" I felt a strong grip hoist me from the waist, backwards, and a blast of air ripped by as a car, horn blaring, zoomed by me. Gasping, adrehaline coursing through my body as chills prickled up and down my scalp, I looked over my shoulder at Hihara-sempai, shaking, pulling me back up onto the curb.

His eyes were filled with terror. "Not that way, please, Kaho-chan."

"I didn't do that on purpose," I said caustically. "I'm not that desperate."

"I don't want you to end up the same way as Tsukimori. You see how thin the cord is that binds us to this life. Please believe me."

"How do you know how he ended up...where he ended up..." I countered angrily. "What gives you the right to decide which religion dictates the fate of people? How do you know, huh?"

"Faith," he said simply. I snorted.

"Faith is easy enough. Every religion has it."

"Kaho-chan..."

"DON'T CALL ME THAT!"

He pulled me tighter against his chest, and I could hear the frantic racing of his heart. "I can't bear it, you know. What I should have done, before it was too late. I had the opportunity...I should have made him listen..." Drops of moisture on the back of my neck told me he had started crying. "It's all my fault, and it's too late now...So I have to make you understand, because I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you and I knew all along where you were going..."

"Leave me alone!" I spat, wrenching myself from his grasp. "I hate you! Never speak to me again!"

Pain filtered through his eyes. "Onegaishimasu..."

I never heard what he was going to say next. I didn't even look over my shoulder to see his hunched form as I ran away.

.

A biting wind lashed the bare arms of the trees as Mom drove me back to campus for the first time since winter break.

Students were rearriving, greeting friends again with smiles and laughter, passing along memories from winter vacation. I saw a newly reunited couple sneaking a clandestine kiss on the back steps of my dorm building as I walked up to my room. My heart twisted in my chest painfully, even as they startledly broke apart and embarassedly smiled at each other.

All this that I've gone through with Len, the happy plans that I've been thinking of, far away from this second-rate college, somewhere where music could be blissfully shared, and the days long and full of learning together, and the nights peaceful and exciting, and here I am, again, back where I started.

I swallowed back the recurring tears as a girl from my theory class waved cheerfully at me, and I pushed open the door of Usa and my room (has it really been unlocked this entire time?) and slipped inside to avoid making conversation. Inside, I leaned against the door and took a deep breath.

The room was cold; I could see my breath. Usa's side was exactly the same, not even touched from the last time she'd left it. Where was she? She should have been back already, her and her thing with being early. Yet it was clear that the room was blissfully absent of her presence.

The quietness hurt. I didn't want to be here, in this lifeless room. Not again.

I opened the door and sneaked back across campus to the practice rooms, hiding around the corners of buildings when I saw people I knew approaching, my violin case hanging listlessly from its handle in my right hand.

Ichi wouldn't be back yet; I was sure of it. He'd probably come in after a week or so, not caring how much classwork he had to make up, but full of stories of where he'd been, the music he'd been making, etc.

Tsuchiura-kun wasn't back yet, either. I don't think anyone from the soccer team was back, but they should be in a couple of days. I didn't know how to face him when he did return. Would he hold me close and let me cry on his shoulder? I gave a hoarse laugh to myself. It was the most horrible thought in the world; now that Len was gone, was I honestly going to consider "he" might cheer me up?

I wanted to see him all the same, to have him comfort me and tell me things would be okay, somewhere deep down, but I angrily forced myself to deny that feeling. Shame on you, Kahoko! The love of your life is gone, forever, and here you want to be comforted by someone you once had little flimsy feelings for? I'll never think about another guy again!

I told myself, bitterly, that I wouldn't ever stop loving Len, even though he was gone, and that I'd never allow myself to get over him. It seemed absolutely sacriligeous that I'd let this blinding pain go. I held onto it, as if it were the only thing keeping me going, and I'd play in minor keys from now on.

The practice rooms were still and quiet. Doubtless no one wanted to devote themselves to the noisy prison yet. To face the airtight rooms and have to concentrate all your will on practicing, endlessly, without even knowing if you'd ever succeed.

I slipped into the back room, setting down the violin case on top of the closed top of the baby grand piano, wearily. It felt like it weighed a hundred kilos. I opened it and stared down at Mahou, in the red velvet casing. I willed my fingers to lift it out, and held it automatically between my jaw and shoulder, looking down the fingerboard at the scroll blankly.

The soundproof room was silent, and nobody else was in it, just me. Not Usa, not Tsuchiura-kun. Not Len. Just me and Mahou. Mahou wasn't speaking to me right now, anyway. I knew it was useless to take out the bow. I couldn't face any sound that might come out right now.

The sound of silence bloated in my ears, like I was underwater. The emptiness of the room filled me and consumed me.

I felt alone, so alone, and I shakily replaced the violin, and stood in the curve of the piano, folding my arms on top of the lid, and let myself rent the silence with stormy tears.

.

Now that I could cry again, I couldn't stop.

I hadn't made it through one class yet in the last three days without bursting into tears at some point. Most of the professors were sympathetic, but I didn't want to be that way around Kumoyama-sensei. I could just hear his voice chewing me out now. "Why are you even thinking about that right now? Put it all out of your head, Hino, and practice for God's sake."

I gritted my teeth and steeled myself as I walked in determinedly.

He was already waiting. "You're two minutes late."

"I'm sorry. The violin is tuned and ready to go."

"Where's your accompanist?"

"God knows." Usa's side of the room was still bleakly the same way it had been when we'd left, sans the actual person. She seemed to have disappeared off the face of the planet, had switched off her phone, and hadn't shown up for any classes.

For the first time in six months, Kumoyama-sensei chuckled. "It's okay," he said. "I already spoke to Hanada. It appears that your accompanist has flown to London for an entrance exam to the Royal College of Music." He smiled, and the little crinkles around his mouth that looked like they hadn't had exercise in ages, lit up. "About time that young lady decided to extend her boundaries. Well, let's just work with what we've got today. The Vivaldi?"

I pulled out my music and set it up on the music stand, lifting my instrument to my chin. And then I just stared at the sheets. I couldn't see them. Everything was so blurry, and...

Crap. It was coming.

"Hino! What's wrong?"

I wiped my sweater sleeve across my eyes, shocked that it was already soaked. I cleared my throat and lifted my bow again and...

"It's useless...it's so useless..."

I set down the violin and bow and collapsed on the piano bench, not even noticing as Kumoyama-sensei got up hurriedly to get out of the way, and cried stormily against the tone cluster from the group of depressed keys.

"Hino. Look up at me, please."

His voice was so gentle, and the hand that he put on my shoulder was so comforting, that I looked up in spite of myself.

"I'm sorry, Kumoyama-sensei, I just...the music...I want to express this...and get it out...and put everything I have into the music...and express...GRIEF and PAIN and all these emotions that...I...but they just won't come out...I can't get them to come out...and..."

He straightened up thoughtfully, and then, without warning, pulled out an old, but expensive violin case, hidden behind the piano. He tuned it quickly, expertly, and then lifted the bow to the violin.

"Listen. Just listen."

He played, and the notes were...they were...Oh, it was agony to listen to, the strings cried out to my heart, the vibrato sobbed in my ears, and it was everything I'd experienced over the last week and a half.

He ended, settling the instrument and bow very carefully back into the case and turned to face me. "The main theme from Brahm's third symphony, movement three," he said quietly. "Originally, it starts out with the cello section, but this is the best I can do here. With a cello, it's like the difference between mourning and comforting someone who is mourning.

"Hino," he continued, "remember this, always remember this: Music isn't about expressing yourself. That's a false claim that free-spirited 'musicians' like to make. Music is about helping others to express themselves. It's about connecting spiritually and emotionally with others. Feel their love and anger and the bitterness they feel over the monotony of life. Bring them out of despair with hopeful tunes. Help them to grieve with melancholy tunes. But don't just play music for yourself. Selfish music doesn't do anyone any good.

"With that in mind," he said, standing back up, "let's just talk about the Vivaldi, for today. I certainly hope that by next week you'll have fixed that thirty-fourth bar."

"Yes, sir."

I learned many things from Kumoyama-sensei, both before that day, and after it. But the most important lesson he ever taught me had nothing to do with interpretation, nor technique.

.

There is no collateral for the soul.

We can't buy it. We can't sell it. We don't even know where it comes from, what material it is.

Only that it is housed by the body. And when the body is gone, so is the soul.

That's what I've always thought, anyway. Here in my happy, unshaken world, I didn't care what happened to the soul after death.

But I always assumed it would be a nice place, somewhere to be at peace, never worrying anymore.

Damn you, Hihara. Now that it's so close to me, so dear to my heart, this concept of what happens after death, you have to dig up the bones of the "what ifs".

I don't believe it. I won't, I refuse to believe it.

But..._what if?_

Chikusho! Chikusho!

I ground my teeth together where I sat on that stupid piano bench in front of the stupid untuned baby grand piano in the stupid practice rooms at this stupid school.

I remain...unconvinced! So there!

_Knock knock knock._

"Hey, Kahoko."

"Ichi..." I twisted around on the piano bench in shock at his cheerful voice.

He tapped on the glass again, the sound coming to me as though I were in a fish tank. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure."

He entered, closing the door carefully behind him, and sat down on the chair next to me, holding his violin case in his lap. He didn't say anything for a couple of minutes, just contemplated the keyboard. Several times he seemed like he was trying to say something, but nothing came.

Sweet Ichi. Like a teddy bear, just there for comfort, not judging, not asking questions, just there. Even his awkward wanting to say something was comforting.

Well, after all, it's very hard to say something comforting to someone you only know through music. So I played on the piano, slowly, "The Ashokan Farewell" for him.

His eyes brightened as he listened, and when I'd finished he began to fish out his violin. "I like that piece," he said. "It's got soul. Did you pick that up overseas?"

"Yes. I knew you'd like it."

He already had his violin out and was rosining the bow hair. "It's got a combination of feelings, not the wistfulness of the Scots, not the cynicism of the Irish, nor the hopelessness of the Gypsys. It's all, and yet a character completely of its own. It's American, isn't it?"

"Yes." That strange land, full of people and customs I didn't understand, because it was such a blender of them all.

"I want to go to America someday," Ichi said, "and study fiddle there, but right now..."

"I have a friend here who is studying in America," I said, thoughtlessly, "if he hasn't left already." Because I said cruel things to him, on a subject which neither of us fully understand.

"I'd like to meet him."

"I'd like to introduce him to you."

We smiled at each other, and then I pulled out my cell.

I'm so sorry, Hihara-sempai. I misjudged you. You only wanted to make sure I'd be okay, all you were thinking of was me, not yourself. And I threw it back in your face.

I don't know if I can face you yet, but...

"Hello?"

"Hihara-sempai." I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

Pause. "I know. I'm sorry. I let myself get carried away by my feelings. I suggested things I still know so little about."

"Do you really believe...that?"

Pause. "I'm not sure anymore." Sigh. "I was so sure before, so convinced that what I was told was the truth. I just don't know anymore, Kahoko. Who's right. Who's wrong.

"All I know is, I'm sorry. I was panicking; I spoke hastilly; I hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know."

Silence. Perhaps it should have been that way from the start. What we don't know...how much should we say?

"Are you still in Japan?" I asked.

"Um...yeah, for the next couple of days."

I looked over at Ichi, waiting patiently at my side.

"I have someone I want you to meet."

.

Sitting alone in my dorm room, looking at the abandoned side where Usa had left it.

Wondering, how is she doing? How did her audition go?

Ave Maria begins to sing insistently from my pocket. After letting it carry on for a bit, I numbly pull out my phone and flip it open carelessly. Maybe it's her, raving and ranting as always. Triumphant? Dejected? You never know with Usa.

Then I freeze, as the voice comes through the speakers, "Hino? You there?"

Tsuchiura-kun...

"Hino? Hey, answer, please? Hino?"

I purse my lips together. I won't forgive you, Kaho-chan, for all those double-minded thoughts you had, back when Len was alive, back when he was yours, and you were still unsatisfied.

I firmly press "End call".

**Author's Notes: **Oh, boy. Now you see why Chapter 17 is such a humdinger. (Did I just use that word? I'm afraid I just did...)

Why must I do this? Taking an innocuous, light little romance story and turning it into such a heavy, wretched, sardonic story full of controversial topics? I don't know, don't ask. It just is. It's been that way from the beginning. The idea that concieved itself in my brain and demanded to be let loose.

This striking concept, the "what if"s of death, whirling around and demanding to be spoken for. I just feel like it shouldn't be ignored. Questions are meant to be asked. Some don't have answers. But they should be asked, anyway.

Really, I don't know where this story comes from, and frankly I'd rather I didn't write it. But I did. And here it is, and here you go. Sorry to set up such an idyllic romance, just to spoil it for y'all.

(Did I seriously just say "y'all"? God, I sound Texan...)

Wellllll...flame me, flambay me, fillet me, fry me, fricassee me, fordigidder me. (I don't know what that last word means; I just made it up because I ran our of "F" words. Oh, wait. There is another one, but I'm not going to say it.) Either way, you've read it, it's there, I'm not taking it back.

So here's a word to make everything better:

Puppies!

Two more chapters and an epilogue, that's all I'm going to make you put up with. I promise Kahoko won't be moping the entire time. Also, I feel prideful in admitting that this story has over 10,000 hits! Hehe, I'm so proud of myself...now I'll shut up (hangs head in shame).


	23. Chapter 23

Movement 23: F dur

When I got back to the room, I discovered that a tornado had hit Usa's side of the room, and said cyclone of doom was herself flying about, packing books into boxes.

"Usa! Where have you been! Do you have any idea..."

"They accepted me."

"Into the College? In _London_?"

She nodded gleefully. "Although I don't know how you found out. I was going to wait until I knew whether I'd get in or not to tell you, for fear that you'd smile and say, 'Ganbatte, ne!" and I'd screw up the exam anyway. I wore that dress, by the way."

"Good for you."

"I think I got in because of it, actually."

I smiled.

"Such a bitter smile," Usa mused, and the two of us were silent for a couple of minutes, regarding the kotatsu, still set up in the middle of the room.

"And now you're leaving," I said, more to myself than to her.

Leaving. Isn't that what change is? Everyone leaves you behind...or you leave everyone behind...but in the end, you're still lonely.

"Yup," Usa pronounced prosaically. "Out to meet the world.

"So unfortunately I won't be able to accompany you any more," she wound up, with an expression that was trying to be sad and disappointed, but wasn't able to cover up her excitement.

I sighed. "I hate trying to find an accompanist," I said wistfully. "It's like trying to find a diamond in a coal mine."

"Hey, why don't you ask Tsuchiura?" she said, perking up. "You guys work well together, you know. After all, he did the Grieg with you last summer."

I shook my head. "No, I've asked him before," I said, remembering the first concours back in high school. "He won't do it, I'm sure." Excuses, excuses.

Mori-san had phoned to tell me that he was in Taiwan, and then Australia, but shouldn't he be back by now? Something in my heart turned when I thought about him.

I missed him.

My mind had been so full of pain over losing Len that I hadn't realized that I wanted to see Tsuchiura-kun, badly, just for himself. For his smile. For his funny little ways of cheering me up, poking me in the forehead, scrubbing the top of my hair, saying, "Oi, oi!" all the time.

Usa continued to pack while I thought, silently, sitting on my bed.

Usa straightened up from her packing at last and grinned. "Try asking him again," she said with a wink. "Well, then. I need to get going." She looked around the room again for the 50th time to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything. She'd already asked me three times to check for her in case she'd missed something. She finished her speculation and faced me, taking a deep breath.

"Hey. Don't take life so seriously, okay?"

"You're saying that to me?"

"I've already figured out how to deal with the moments that I get depressed, you know. I just remind myself, 'Tomorrow I'll wake up and decide that never eating or sleeping again could be detrimental to my health. But today I'll indulge in a little self-pity.' Artur Rubinstein once said, 'Even when I'm sick and depressed, I still love life.' I wish I could be like that, too."

She grinned and put a hand awkwardly on my shoulder. "Well."

"Well."

We stood like that, and finally I said, "Oh, for pity's sake, be _female_ for once!" and, with a tiny bit of hesitation, she lunged forward and grabbed me in a bear hug.

"Oi, I said female, not affection-deprived inmate."

"This sucks, you know. It takes me forever to get used to someone, and now that I have, I have to say goodbye." She sniffled on my shoulder.

We walked down together to the station together a few hours later. It was down to Tokyo Station first, and then out to Narita Airport. She'd made her books disappear, somehow; I guess she shipped them out to England; and the rest of her belongings were so few that she could carry them herself, but I went with her anyway, meaning to go to the central station and head back from there.

We paid for our tickets, and she wrestled her way through the gates with her baggage and choice words, and then we started to walk down the stairs to the subway.

I froze halfway down. The cold air and distant rumble in coming from below scared me to pieces. I couldn't move another step.

Usa, who was already farther down than me, looked back. "Oi, you coming? I'll be hecka pissed if I miss this train. The next one is an express, and it'll cost me like 500 yen more."

"Coming," I said, but I didn't move a muscle. I stared at the next step down.

I couldn't do it.

"On second thought, Usa, I think I'll stay behind."

She hoisted her bags, which she'd let down to the ground, back up, and heaved her way up to me. She spent a few seconds staring into my face.

"You're scared."

"..."

"The train isn't going to leap up off the tracks and come eat you, you know."

"I never know what will happen any more."

"Look, there's hardly anyone down here. Nobody's going to touch you, you won't fall off onto the tracks unless you jump, and even then you might miss, knowing you."

I shook my head. My face must have been white, because the knuckles on the back of my hand, which was gripping the handrail, were so bright they were almost translucent.

Usa sighed, and then she took a little jump from the step she was on below me, and kissed my cheek. "Call once in a while, okay?"

I nodded. "Sure, I'll call," I said, already planning a 10:00 am (2:00 am France time) call in the middle of finals weeks.

"Kay. Train's coming in. Look, I'm not slipping over the edge!" she yelled up at me from below. She scooted to the yellow line, and when I gasped and almost took the next step down, she grinned at me and stepped back. "Sayonara, baby," she said as the train came in, and then she stepped on it and was gone.

.

Ave Maria sang from my purse, and I took out the cellphone before thinking.

Dolt. I should have guessed.

I switched it off and replaced it without answering.

I stood there, on the stairs, looking down at the platform and clinging to the rail as if my life depended on it. Just a step down, Kahoko...come on, you can't take buses for the rest of your life...

I couldn't do it. I just stared down at the incoming subway, flinching as it pulled in, and watched it take off. Nobody died this time.

I'll wait for the next train, then.

It came and left. And so did the next, and the next. The scenery of the crowd of people changed continually, but the platform stayed put.

I sat down on the steps and cried.

It became an addiction after that, to go to the subway and stand on the stairs and look down at the trains coming and going. Sometimes I'd go twice in one day, on the weekends. Although I still couldn't bring myself to practice, my grades were improving if anything, because I'd take my homework there and sit on the steps and work on it.

But I couldn't take the next step down.

.

My phone kept ringing, first every hour, then settling down for twice a day.

The caller ID was always the same.

.

Theory class was significantly more boring after Usa left and before Tsuchiura-kun (who was still AWOL despite calling constantly, and the fact that the other soccer team members had returned to class). As a class, we suddenly became aware of the deafening silence that occurs after the teacher asks a "corporate question".

"Soooo," Hanada-sensei asked, trying her best to fill the cheerless room with grins and petunias, "Who can tell me what the 'idea fixe' is in Berlioz's 'Symphony Fantasique'?"

*shiiiiiiiiiiin*

She sighed and sagged a little on the piano bench. Then she tried again. "Well, I'm sure that someone can explain to me what type of music Smetana's 'Moldeau' is, right?"

Someone in the back row sneezed.

Hanada-sensei turned to me with pleading eyes, as if to say, "Please tell me that Usa-chan and Tsuchiura have rubbed off on you ever so slightly."

"Um..." I ventured half-heartedly, "something about a poem?"

She took my guess with a beaming face, happy for the slight effort, at least. "Yes! Very good, Hino-chan!" (apparently I have earned "chan" status for that). "Both works are examples of 'symphonic poems'...Oh, look at the time!" (we all had been for the last ten minutes). "Well, for tomorrow I'd like an analysis of the first movement of Haydn's 'Farewell Symphony'. Hino-chan! Can I see you for a minute?"

I waved on Ichi, who had been waiting for me at the door, and approached the front of the class, where Hanada-sensei was frantically packing books into a book-bag emblazoned with snarky musical puns. "Hanada-sensei?"

"Ah, yes," she said, looking up, as if somewhat frazzled that she'd managed to forget about calling me while she'd been packing up. "I thought maybe you and I could pick up a cup of tea. Do you have any classes right now?"

"No..." All I was planning on doing was going back to the subway and doing the analysis for class. "Is something wrong?"

She hesitated slightly, hoisting her various bags onto her shoulders, and gestured out the door. "So what did you think of the Brahms' symphony no. 1? I expect you listened to it all the way through," she added, sternly looking at me over invisible glasses.

"Oh, yes," I said honestly. "It was beautiful." Actually, after my lesson with Kumoyama-sensei, I had listened to all four of Brahms' symphonies, back to back. They all spoke to my heart as if he'd written them for me a hundred years before I was born.

She smiled at me a little knowingly. "Didn't you find it rather sad? The first movement is very heavy, isn't it?"

"Like the pounding of a restless heart," I said, more to myself than to her. "And the agony of the violin solo in the second movement..." I shivered as I recalled the final movement. "And the last movement, so hollow, even through the victory of the major chords, ghostly and brooding..."

I sighed suddenly, looking up at the grey clouds masking the sky. The very same cold wind that had bit into the nape of my neck, a week earlier, was still nipping at me.

Would it ever be warm again?

Hanada-sensei was watching me like a hawk. "This way," she directed me, and we crossed the road to a small, hole-in-the-corner shop with covered windows and a dark interior. "Brahms was quite an amazing composer. Yet he was probably never completely happy. He withheld his heart from those he loved, pouring everything into his music. He was a serious perfectionist."

"So Usa told me," I said as the two of us took seats in a secluded corner, with high-backed seats that closed us off from the rest of the room. There weren't any other customers, anyway, but I felt more secure, anyway.

"And we have many, many beautiful pieces of music to thank for his unhappiness," she wound up. "Hm...I'm starting to wish I'd gone for coffee..."

I sat there numbly as she watched with a half-opened smile for any recognition of amusement from my side. I didn't even feel like faking it.

At last she sighed and got a serious look on her face. "Hino-chan. What's wrong? I haven't seen you smile since you returned from vacation. Not to mention that you cried for the first three days straight. Is something going on I don't know about?"

Eh? Am I so dense that I didn't even notice how dense Hanada-sensei is?

"My boyfriend died," I stated, bluntly, stupidly staring off at a piece of gum stuck to the side of the table.

She got a sudden "Gasp!" look on her face and covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh! You're kidding! I thought he hadn't gotten back yet from the soccer tournament, but..."

I snorted, more derisively at myself than at her. "No, not Tsuchiura-kun. We were never together, anyway."

Her eyebrows shot up and she twitched her mouth in embarrasment. "I see. Sorry. I jumped to conclusions. I'm glad Tsuchiura's still among the living at any rate?" She winked at me playfully.

"Oh, he's certainly alive and kicking," I said viciously. "Or so I assume. Unless the gods have decided to punish me even more." I clamped my teeth together with a click, to keep from saying more spiteful words.

"So your boyfriend died? Hm...who was he? Did I know him?"

"Len Tsukimori."

"EH?" The shock factor on her face rose even more. "You were dating Len Tsukimori? I was so shocked when I read about his death in the papers...such a shame! That young man had such a brilliant career ahead of him..."

"Well, he's dead now," I said brusquely. "The music world will move on. One fewer rivals...isn't that what you said once, Tsukimori-kun?"

God...my chest felt like it was ready to explode from pain.

Hanada-sensei was watching me keenly. "Don't move on, Hino-chan."

"Eh?" That was the last thing I was expecting from her!

"I said, 'Don't move on.' Don't try to swallow your grief; it's too humongous a pill for you. Don't let yourself push past and forget, don't let your music go unaffected.

"But don't let sorrow poison your life, either," she said, changing gears so suddenly that the transmission in my brain squealed. "It's not a sin to emerge triumphant, to stand on top of your pain and accept the joys that life still has for you. Brahms had much to weigh him down, yet he only channeled that into his music, spicing sound with bitter herbs."

I sat silent. Is that my fate, too? To help others with grief forever, through my music, because that is the gift that I have been given? What a price to pay!

"Shitsurei," she said suddenly, picking up her cell. "Ah! It's you! How's it going?...You know, this, that, the other...Did you tape the game from last night? Eh? You forgot? You didn't forget? Mean thing! Wait til I get home, and I'll punish you properly..."

She listened for a minute and then giggled dirtily. "Now, now, I'm with a student...Awww, you have to go? I just started talking with you...Okay. Can't wait to see you, either. It's already been two hours, how do I exist? Yes, I won't forget softball practice at four. No, I didn't do the dishes. I like you, too." She smiled into the phone.

"Okay. Bye bye." She put the phone back into her bag and looked up with sparkling eyes. "Oh. Right. Sorry," she said suddenly as she remembered the somber topic of conversation we had just been having. "That was my husband."

"Sou desu ka...how long have you been married?"

"Hm...about thirty years? No, I guess it's been thirty one...He's such a riot! You should meet him the next time you come over."

I almost smiled in spite of myself. I wouldn't expect anyone but a guy with a terrific sense of humor to get along with Hanada-sensei.

"Ne," she asked suddenly, tactlessly, as the waiter clunked green tea down in front of us (do they only have one option here?), "If you don't mind me asking...Why weren't you with Tsuchiura? I thought for ages that you two were dating."

I shrugged nonchallantly. "It's not like that, I guess. We've been friends for ages, and there was never a huge amount of romantic attraction..." Up until just before Len had returned, that is.

She noted the blush I was furiously trying to hide. "Uh huh."

I didn't even try to deny what she'd already ascertained, but she played along anyway.

"I'm sure you're very tired of hearing quotations thrown at you by now," (you know Usa WAY too well) "but I was just thinking about something I read before I married my husband, back when I was debating whether 'friendship' was a good reason to be together with someone. Schubert once wrote in his diary, 'Take men as they are, not as they ought to be. Happy is he who finds a true friend. Happier still is he who finds in his own wife a true friend.' A little funny coming from someone who never even had a romance. Maybe he saw it clearer than we can, don't you think?"

I don't even know how to begin to answer that.

"Maybe you had a better connection romatically with this Len Tsukimori, Hino-chan," she plowed on mercilessly, "but you'll always be happier with someone you've always felt secure with. A steady love, burning brightly like a thick candle in a still room. Growing each day, undependent on mood and emotion; just be patient, and it will bud in its own time.

"That's the way it's been. That's the way it will always be."

"You didn't know him," I retorted spitefully. "We were meant to be. The future was all laid out in gold in front of us. We truly loved each other..."

"Mm," she intoned wryly. "And for how long?"

My face suddenly flushed red. I felt ashamed to answer her.

I knew the truth, after all. Now that she said that, so plainly, all the memories came back with a rush: the constant teeter-totter of emotions, the moments of fiery passion and the angry spats. It was never just stable and sweet between the two of us, aside from that one heavenly day in Niigata.

But it would have been! I tried to convince myself. We would have gotten past all that, with enough time!

Yet...would it have been enough for him? For me? Once the emotions had died down, would we have been content with a warm, comfortable partnership?

Our entire relationship had been built around our roller-coaster feelings, I suddenly realized. And I felt like a fool.

"It's...hard to explain," I mumbled into the tea, not daring to look up at Hanada-sensei's face, and suddenly felt very angry at her for bursting my bubble.

"I know," she said gently, tactfully for a change. Then she switched back over to "crazy Hanada".

"Now down to business! You and I seriously need to spend some one-on-one time with Ravel, young lady! That last analyzation you turned in could use some improvement! Sooo...you? Me? There's a baseball game on at 6 tonight...not that you ever watch it anyway. Ooohoho, don't think I don't notice!" She waggled a finger at me sternly.

I cracked a smile.

.

Ring, ring. Ring, ring. Ring, ring.

God, he's stubborn.

But so am I.

.

The next day, I cut theory for the first time, took a long, early bus ride, and found myself at the Tsukimori residence, at eight in the morning.

Misa-san opened the door herself. She was already dressed and flawless. I know I didn't look that way. My eyes were puffy after the constant weeping, and I hadn't bothered to do anything with my hair. "Come on in," she said, and I could tell from her voice that, under all the makeup, she hadn't been sleeping, either.

"Where's Tsukimori-san?"

"Back in Europe. He's trying to clinch a particular deal." She sighed and hugged herself. "I get so lonely at night. I wish you'd come more often, Kahoko."

"I'll try to, from now on."

"Kahoko. Would you do me a favor?"

"If I can..."

"Would you play with me, please?"

"Eh?" I hadn't brought my violin.

She noted my astonishment and nodded at me. "It's okay. Come with me."

Mystified, I followed her silently into the room with the concert grand in it, and she picked up Len's broken violin case from on top of the piano bench.

"The owner of the Guaneri wants me to return it, but I've been putting it off, hoping for this. Play it once for me, Kahoko."

"I haven't played in days."

"Neither have I." We looked at each other in mutual understanding, and then she handed me the case, and I opened it and tuned it to her piano.

The Guaneri felt so...different...from Mahou. Lighter, yet heavier. Fuller, yet more fragile. Its 300-plus years pressed weightily into my hand. I lifted Len's priceless Torte bow and touched the strings, and the violin just did the singing on its own.

"Do you have anything you want to play?" she asked me, and I shook my head. She thought for a moment, and then walked across the room and pulled a thin score out from the music shelves.

"Can you sight-read pretty well?"

"Yes, if it's not too difficult."

"Then try this one," she said, and laid out the music on the piano. I looked it over and nodded. "I can do this." We began to play as one.

Samuel Barber's "Adagio for Strings", transcripted for solo violin and piano, does not have a single note in it that is not wistful, full of emotion, and heavy sadness. And yet, it is pain that heals, and emotion that is not heart-sick. We put everything we had into the music. We played for Len. We played for talent that was forever gone, for the cherry blossom that had scarcely begun to open before it fell.

Misa reached over and pulled me into her arms, and we sat and cried together silently, there on the piano bench. We shared our sorrow, the sorrow of promise broken, of love suddenly snuffed out, of a future that was like a landscape painting without the color blue.

We were blindly stumbling about now, without perspective, as though a fog were covering the next stone step into a tea garden, and we couldn't see if there was a string-tied stone on it or not.

After awhile, she pulled back, eyebrows quivering, makeup somehow completely unruined, but she looked twenty years older.

"You'll have to play for the both of you now, Kahoko," she said, voice so tormented that husky was no longer the proper adjective. "Don't disappoint him. Please. He had such high hopes for you, you know. He used to say, 'That girl has the touch of an angel. She picks up a violin, and it gives forth all its purity without payment. As though she's playing a magic violin'."

I smiled grimly. How true that used to be. Then I touched the Guaneri lingeringly. How true that is even now.

.

My inbox is full, and I'm too scared to open it to see if anyone else has left a message.

.

I entered the subway the next day, my usual stop. The tender had gotten so used to me coming that they'd started letting me through the gate without a ticket.

I sat down on the steps and started reading.

"Can't do it either, can you?" said a voice behind me.

I jumped. "Rumiko." Somehow, it had always been just "Rumiko", with no -sans attached. She hobbled her way around me, and sat down next to me, heavily, like when she'd sat on the couch at Misa-san's house. She looked out over the incoming train and sighed.

"Sixty-eight years I've been travelling these trains, from Aomori to Nagasaki. And then one day I make the most horrible mistake I've ever made, and I just can't do it anymore."

"Rumiko, it wasn't your fault."

"No, it was. I keep on asking myself, what could I have done? Sixty-eight years, and wasn't there something I could have done better? Surely, somewhere I have done something to upset the kami. But there it is," she said, and looked over at me, through the wrinkles, through the thick glass, and there was no smile, just sadness. "And we have to continue on."

"Sometimes I wish I didn't have to."

"It'll get easier, by and by, dearie."

"I've heard that too many times for it to be true anymore."

"An old adage isn't wrong just because it's old.

"Well, they say the next step is the first step. Let's go, both of us. Yoishou!" as she heaved herself up and offered me her gnarled hand.

I hesitated, and then took it.

We descended the stairs together. We clung to each other, from the very center of the platform, as the train came in, and we coaxed each other onto it, and rode it out.

Clack clack clack...the wheels on the tracks sounded like bones on bones. But I pushed aside the feeling of nausea that overcame me, and held onto Rumiko as she held onto me.

Standing at our destination, looking out at the Kamakura beach in its winter emptiness, grey waves washing in to the great crescent, I wanted to share together, with Rumiko, what we both felt.

I pulled out my violin, balancing the case carefully on a rock so it wouldn't get sandy, and, as Rumiko watched silently, tuned it. It was currently badly out of tune, due to the lack of use and it took awhile for the pins to stick without popping out whenever I went onto the next string, because of the change of atmosphere and the moisture in the air, but with patience I worked it out, and then lifted the bow to the strings. I looked out at the horizon, beyond which lay lands I still hadn't seen, and began playing "Tösvalsen". And after that, I rang out "The Ashokan Farewell".

The expression on her face said that she didn't quite understand. Although the feeling was there, inherent in the freewilled notes and rhythms, it was still an unknown dialect of a familiar language. The generation gap was as yet too great.

But she still said, "Thank you," and gave me her sixty-eight-year-old smile, full of wisdom and hardship and joy.

"Thank you," I said, for neither of us were thinking about the music, but rather, that weighty engine that had brought us there, mass-murder machine, innocent and fast and so deadly.

But a tiny piece of my soul had started to heal.

.

I checked my email when I got back, bidding Rumiko goodbye at the station. How ironic that we lived close enough to take the same train station, yet the accident had been in Kyōto. I wonder how she got back to Tokyō after the accident? Did someone come to pick her up? Had she taken a taxi?

An email from Usa, little hopping rabbit icon included. It was very short and to the point.

Are you okay?

I emailed back:

yeah, sort of.

It was only minutes later that her next email came.

Have you heard from Tsuchiura at all?

I typed "yes", and froze, the mouse cursor hovering over "Send".

Backspace, backspace, backspace. "no", I typed.

Still couldn't send.

I hit the little red X in the corner of the screen and closed the lid of my laptop, shivering.

Somehow I can't answer that question, Usa.

**Author's Notes:**

Does it annoy anyone that my story has been so full of modern technology? The irony is that I don't even own a cellphone...

But honestly, I feel like modern fiction tries to deny the fact that humans are, more-or-less, dependent on communicating electronically. Case in point...

Thanks, everyone, for so kindly reviewing and responding positively to this story! It's been a real joy to write because of that. I never even imagined I would get so many readers and reviewers. But I'm just so...SQUEE! Happy!

Final chapter next week! (+ epilogue). I have a Tsuchiura-Kaho sequel in mind, if anyone is interested...


	24. Chapter 24

Movement 24: C dur

I was rather used to receiving packages at the mail center, the last couple of weeks or so of the return to school. My friends and family had been sending chocolates, flowers, music, etc., as if such things could help me forget and feel better. Today, there was a flat little package from London.

I began to unwrap it even before I got up to my room, and as I unlocked the door, a small, pink bookmark slipped out and hit the floor.

I picked it up. There were little bunnies along the crimped, laminated edges, dancing to the music of flutes, all skillfully handdrawn. In the center, in Usa's sloped writing, it said, "For a friend who will soon come to understand the question, 'What is music?'"

Cryptic. I should have expected no less. I turned it over, and on the other side, a little sticky note had been attached which read, "Read it, you dope. The next time we meet, I don't want to hear your stupid little misquotations of Western phrases."

I finally looked at the title of the book. It read, simply, "Famous Quotations by the Masters".

I opened it to the first page, and began reading the most famous definition of music, by Debussy.

.

Ring. Ring. It's not Tsuchiura-kun, for a change. Go away, I'm too worn out to talk to anyone right now. I hope it's not some friend or another who wants to belatedly tell me "I'm so sorry, Kahoko."

Ring, ring, ring. Click. I'll let voice mail get it.

I picked my violin bow back up and prepared my mind to practice. Must stop thinking about everything else. Must not worry about school, or how Usa and Tsuchiura-kun are doing. Must not...think about...who might have called...damn.

My curiousity getting the better of me, I set back down my bow and picked up my cell phone. Voice mail...Yamanaka Asako...I don't recognize that name. Should I listen to the message?

I hit the listen button.

"Hi, Hino Kahoko-san? My name is Yamanaka Asako." Yeah, I kinda got that already. "I'm the director of a Tokyo club called 'Singer Singer Move'. I happened to hear your performance of Grieg's violin sonata at Yunoki Azuma's recital last June. I was wondering if you and your accompanist would be interested in playing a parlour recital at 'Singer Singer Move' on the 13th of March. It's a paid social event, so although we can't pay you much, we can still give you both a small concession. Please send me your answer at..."

I jotted down the phone number and email address, though my hands were shaking so much from excitement that the characters were hardly legible.

A recital. An actual recital. I should have been nervous, given my past stage experiences. But...I have to admit, the feeling of wanting to perform suddenly overwhelmed me.

I want to be on stage. I want to share my music with other people. So much!

I know what level I'm at. I'm still just a beginner, still learning. But that won't stop me from playing for other people. Why should it? They don't come to hear perfection. They aren't counting the number of mistakes I make; they aren't sitting with their noses in the score, dying to mark where my stacattos aren't short enough.

They just want to hear something beautiful. And I just want to play something beautiful.

But...what about Tsuchiura-kun?

I should contact him, anyway...

Soon...but not yet. I need just a little more time.

.

There were beginning to be more and more moments in which I felt like living again. My cell phone was still insistently ringing every day, but I had less and less heart to continue to avoid answering it.

Then came the day when I picked up.

*click* "Hell?"

Oh shit. I'm so nervous about hearing his voice again that I can't even complete words.

"Kahoko?"

"Oh, it's just you, Usa." Somehow, hearing her voice was the best and worst thing imagineable right now. I both wanted and didn't want to talk to her.

"Oh, thanks," she said, pretending to feel hurt. "I see how it is. You were hoping for someone else," she insinuated slyly.

"How are classes?" I asked, ignoring her.

"Eh, haven't started yet. I still have a weekish to go. There's a dinky little Erard upright in the room I'm renting, but I can't go use the ones in the practice rooms at the College yet. I haven't the heart to go at it with the upright for hours on end, but London has this wonderful thing called 'free museums and libraries'. Ne, did you know there's a Beethoven manuscript at the British Library?"

Oh, she would. "No."

"Oh."

The little awkward pause that comes when information hits a dead end.

My mind started to wander back to my conversation with Hanada-sensei a few days prior. I still felt a little sick about it.

"Ne, Usa."

"Yeah?"

I sighed deeply, wavering back and forth between talking to her about it or not. Would she be as brutal as always? Probably.

"Don't kick the bucket while you're on the phone with me. I'd be sad."

"What's sad is how unfunny that is right now."

"True. Tell me," she urged. "What's on your mind?"

"What's love?" I blurted out.

"Love...ne..." she trailed off, diving off the deep end into thought, as always. "Why are you asking such a thing?" she asked point-blank.

Dredge out the feelings, Kahoko. She deserves that much.

"I just keep thinking, did I really love Len? Is it really love just to admire someone because of who they are...want to be with them and...not be able to stop from...passion..." I felt my face heating up.

"Passion, eh?" she said dryly. "What kind of passion are we talking about, huh?"

"Oh, be merciful," I pleaded with her. "I'm in the depths of despair."

"I didn't realize you'd read 'Anne of Green Gables'."

"I haven't. Nao says it sometimes."

"Falling in love...I don't have much experience there," she pondered. "But I think I can take a wild stab in the dark at what you mean. You mean the feeling like when you're at the top of a cliff, thinking, 'I could let go at anytime', the feeling of being underwater, and your lungs feel like they're about to burst, and every minute they're not near, you look forward anxiously to when they will reappear...that sort of feeling?"

I nodded miserably. "But Hanada-sensei said something like...it's not really love, you should be with the one you've been friends with all along..." I sighed again, and my chest really did feel like it was about to explode. "And no matter how much I try to explain it away...Len and I never were like that. Would we have lasted forever? I just...can't answer that question positively."

"Does it matter?" she asked quietly. "Are the qualifications for love, 'It has to last forever'? Oh, Kahoko, Kahoko, you're such a little girl," and her voice was gentle and teasing.

"I know that," I answered a tad curtly. "I don't know anything, after all."

"Silly hummingbird, you already know too much."

"Eh? Why am I a hummingbird?" 

"You've grown wings, but you're still tiny, that's why. Apart from that ridiculous metaphor, I've always looked up to you, you know? Your courage, your straightforward desires..."

"I'm tired of hearing that!" I squeaked. Always, always, people telling me they "want to be like me". If you really knew what I was like, you wouldn't want to be like me!

"Oh, pshaw. Chill out. Look, you had something special with Tsukimori, right? I know it, every time I looked at you, I could see that blaze of extraordinary feelings burning in your eyes. Yeah, you get on with Tsuchiura. Yeah, if you don't give him a second chance, it'll be the stupidest thing you've ever done. But that doesn't cancel out what you had with Tsukimori."

I felt tears of gratitude well up in my eyes. "Usa..."

"Wow, I think I just said something brilliant. Congratulations, me. I think I'll reward myself with chocolate."

"You'll get fat," I antagonized her.

She stuck her tongue out at me. I know because she made a "Nnn!" sound like little kids do when they stick their tongues out at each other. "That aside, if you don't call him I'll...I'll..."

I smiled at her infuriated attempts to come up with a non-corporeal revenge. "No, I think I will," I mused, more to myself than her. He deserves it.

Tsuchiura-kun has never given up on me, not even once.

"Thanks," we both said at the same time.

"Kay, I'll talk to you later," she said, and hung up without waiting for a reply.

Heh. That's so like her.

I looked out the window at the sun dimming down through the thinning layer of clouds. January was dying. The longest month of my life.

I survived it.

.

The first day of February, the sun shone as it hadn't in almost a month, in a cloudless sky, not a breath of wind disturbing the tops of the trees. It glossed on the red varnish of my violin, enticing me to set it down from my practice and curl up in the little patch of warm sunlight on my bed.

I basked like a cat for a few minutes, hoping I wouldn't sunburn, and lazily opened my computer to check my email.

A little note from my mom, asking when the semester ended, and could I please, please make the effort to come back for the little time before the new semester started?

A long, juicy email from Nami, regalling the tale of her first kiss with her boyfriend, and hints at Mori-san beginning to "cast eyes" at a friend of hers from the school she was at.

A reminder from Yamanaka-san, pressing me for an answer about the parlour recital.

Ah. I have the answer now, at least on my part.

I will continue forward with this risky business called music, giving it my all, because, when it comes down to it, I love the violin. All that time ago, just before the third, disastrous concours, I'd come to that very same conclusion. Then it had been blown away by the viruosity of everyone else around me.

Loving the violin is enough. Because to truly love the violin is to give oneself entirely to it, and to those who listen.

My reply is positive, unanimous with my whole being.

But...I haven't got the other half of the answer for her. That belongs to someone else.

A very old friend. A dear, dear friend. For the sake of that friendship, I won't allow the past to interfere any longer. I made mistakes. I won't deny that it was wrong for me to want him...at that time. But this is a new time.

The time, it's now, Kahoko. Don't put it off any longer.

I hit the familiar speed dial, and waited. Two rings...three rings...four...and click.

"Moshi moshi?"

"Tsuchiura?"

He gasped, seemingly lost for words. I waited patiently until he finally replied, "Hino?"

"Yes. It's me. I..."

I'm crying. This isn't how it was supposed to go.

Will you still smile at me like you used to?

What if he didn't? What if it was extinct? Dead, like the dinosaurs, old petrified bones of what remained?

"Hino." His voice was barely a whisper, full of uncontained joy and hope. Oh, God. I could see his eyes now, shining at me.

"Yes," I sniffed back. "Tsuchiura-kun."

I closed my eyes and let my lashes pierce the droplets of water so that they splashed down my face. Tsuchiura-kun...his name tasted so sweet. I wanted to say it again. But I didn't let myself.

"Um...Hino?"

"Yeah, I'm here," I said, clearing my throat. "Did you get the message from Yamanaka-san from 'Singer Singer Move'? She was wondering if we wanted to do a parlour recital..."

"Yeah. I told her that I didn't know how you'd feel about it, since you were going through a hard time, but that I'd get back to her as soon as possible about it." Pause. "Do you have an answer?"

Yes? No?

Do I "betray" Len if I play with Tsuchiura-kun? Is it wrong to want to make music with him again?

"Hino?"

Will I accomplish anything if I continue to let this sense of guilt pervade me forever? Isn't music about sharing and healing, together?

"Hino. I know what you're thinking." I doubt it somehow. "I understand how you feel." Unlikely. "But do you think Tsukimori would want you to linger like this, unwilling to move past your grief, because you feel guilty or something?"

Have you always been this good at reading my mind? Really, I should wear a mask or something...which wouldn't help over the phone anyway...

"No," I whispered, and he chuckled ever so slightly.

"Good girl. I'll tell Yamanaka-san that we'll do the recital, then. Once I get back to Tokyō."

"Ne, where are you right now?" I asked him.

"Nagano-ken. I'm returning today, though." Indeed, I could hear the sound of suitcase wheels rolling on pavement as he went along.

"Nani? Doshite?"

"There's a medical specialist here I'm going to see about my ankle," he explained.

"Eh? What did you do to your ankle?"

"Broke it in the competition. Looks like I'm out for the season, maybe the next one, too. I've had to go through surgery, physical rehab...ugh. There's nothing quite as annoying as an attractive male nurse who may or may not be straight, rubbing your leg and smiling."

I let myself smile. "That's really too bad. Are you going to lose your scholarship?"

"No, but I can't get another one for next year unless my ankle heals by then. In the meantime, I'll have to sit at home and mope. I've never had to be this stationary before. It's driving me crazy."

Normally I would have laughed, but I couldn't. Not yet.

He recognized my silence. "Hino. I heard. I'm so sorry."

When the words came from him, they seemed less cliché.

"I..." I let the word hang off into silence, as my throat tightened painfully.

Right now I was falling, and it felt like he was so far away.

I wanted his arms, so strong and steady, to lean on and cry my heart out on. I wanted the comforting feel of his jaw against the side of my head. I needed his strength, so much. I needed to renew the friendship had been blooming into more than a friendship.

I wondered, then, if when I saw Tsuchiura-kun again, things will have changed, like they did when I saw Len for the first time after two years. I'd never been separated from Tsuchiura-kun for so long before; we'd stuck together since we'd met in our second year of high school.

I don't want to have to go through that again. I want his smile to be familiar, wide and honest, as always.

"Ne, Tsuchiura-kun?"

"It's been long enough, Hino Kahoko. Call me Ryou." His voice took on a serious, meaningful sound.

"I can't, Tsuchiura-kun. It's too early."

"Sou ka. Too early for it, eh? Where's your heart, Hino?" he asked playfully.

"It burned with the body of someone I loved," I said woefully.

"You really did love him."

"Yes." Thanks, Usa, for helping me to realize the validity of that love.

"Did you ever tell him?"

"I never got the chance." And I will always regret it.

He was silent for a moment, save for a little "hmm..." sound of thinking.

At last, he asked, "Hino, do you know who Prometheus was?"

"No."

"He was a Greek mythological character who stole fire from the gods and gave it to man, but forget about that, it's a bad analogy. Do you know what a phoenix is?"

"A...some kind of bird, right?" I answered, mystified.

"A bird with beautiful plumage that lived its life, and then burned up as it died, and from the ashes it was reborn. Hino," and his voice softened so that I inclined my ear even more into the phone, "I hope your heart can be a phoenix. Maybe not today, maybe not for a long time yet but, I will cherish that little bird, until the day it has returned to life."

He paused to let me consider it. It felt like there was a bird of fire in my chest, not scorching like before, but warm and fluttery.

And I realized that this was how he had always made me feel. Ever since the beginning, when he caught me while I was falling down the stairs, shrouded by falling papers, I couldn't help but catch my breath whenever I was near him.

My heart had always pounded so hard, like a hammer, whenever I was around Len, that I'd never noticed its patient knocking around Tsuchiura-kun.

I need you, now, to tell me something clearly, and set my mind at rest, finally.

The question Hihara-sempai had posed to me still rang in my ears: Where does the soul go?

"Tsuchiura-kun?"

"Yes?"

"Do you believe in hell?"

Pause. "Talking to Hihara recently?"

"Ye-es."

He sighed deeply. "Hihara-semapi is the one who told me about Len's passing, just before he returned to Japan. He had some...questions for me. I assume I don't need to pose them to you."

I shivered at the recollection. "No."

"At the time, I admit I didn't have an answer for him. But I've been thinking about it a lot since then. About Tsukimori's life. He 'sold his soul' to music...I always thought. Never took time for other people. Pursued a goal that was emptied in one fell swoop."

I winced. "That's what Hihara-sempai said."

"Yeah. Well, forgive me for saying so, but to hell with what Hihara-sempai said. Because, how do you know which is the right god? And even if you did, how would you know you were actually doing what he said to do? I think we have to follow what our hearts tell us, Kahoko. If it hurts us, it hurts other people, and so we know what is right and wrong. Think about it. Len was creating beautiful music, for other people more than for himself, and he would have continued it forever if he could. He reached into his potential and manifested everything he could within the short time he had. Do you think someone like that is destined for 'eternal torment'?"

"No." It was one of those things that you've already thought of before, but you never put it to words in your head, and so you forgot that you already knew it.

"You know, it's said that Anton Bruckner was once asked what account of his work on earth he would give to his God when he died. He answered, 'I will present to him the score of some of my work, and he will judge me mercifully.' I think, as long as we give of ourselves selflessly, cheerfully, doing our best to make others happy, there is no diety who can truly condemn us. There's no qualification other than that. Don't you think so?"

I felt new tears, of gratitude, beginning to well up.

"Ne, Tsuchiura-kun, be my accompanist when you get back, okay?" I said, to change the subject. "Usa's ditched me for London."

"Good for Front, Center. I think I'll have to be your accompanist, otherwise I'll be bored out of my mind. Good thing it's my left ankle that's bad. I can use the sustain pedal as much as I want. Long live Wagner."

"Ugh...that means you lose una corda."

"Just play louder."

"Dork."

"Hino. I miss you."

...

"...Is that a good silence?"

"I...don't know yet."

I hope it is, though.

"Well, I'm about to go down and catch the subway. I don't think I can get reception down there, so..."

I was already starting to panic. "Tsuchiura...don't...don't get on that train, please..."

"Too late. I've already paid for the ticket, and it's a ridiculously expensive one, at that. They pay crazy train fares out here in Nagano, let me tell you. See, I'm going through the gate now..." His voice started to break up as he went down the stairs.

"Tsuchiura-kun! I love you! As a friend, I mean," I added hastily, my face flushing.

His voice came back into clarity. He must be climbing the stairs back up.

"Maybe it'll be more someday," he said, but I could hear his grin in his voice.

"Maybe."

"Maybe. That's a good word. I'll call you when I get to the Shinkansen, okay? And then I'll call you again from the station, and then..."

"And then I'll see you."

We both paused, and then I heard him swear. "Gotta go," he said, his voice already breaking up before the line went dead.

.

Claude Debussy once said, "Music is the silence between the notes".

Isn't life like that, too?

People are born, and people die. There is love, there is failure, there is success. We have graduations and weddings; we get sick sometimes, we ace an exam, we get dumped. We are exhilerated; we are depressed; sometimes we can't wait for tomorrow, and sometimes we want to go out and hang ourselves.

But what about between? We can't always live life on the edge of a cliff. Life doesn't go from exclamation mark to exclamation mark. There are periods, and lots of commas, and question marks, too. Life is the hours and hours of exhausting practice between concerts, isn't it? We learn and grow and eat and watch TV and get fat and go running to get skinny again. We spend a third of our lives completely unconscious, lying in bed 8 hours a day. Is it wasted time?

Did Brahms ever write a hemidemisemiquaver rest that he didn't mean? No: he understood it, I think. That there is nothing that doesn't have an effect on everything else. The conversations we had yesterday will continue to have an effect on us years later, even if we don't remember them.

I've been changing, haven't I, due to the influence of those around me. The Kaho-chan of the pre-Mahou days is gone forever, as Nao pointed out, all that time ago. She was replaced by a me who understands people a little better, who has figured out how to deal with depression, and the tough moments of life that try to get us down. We imitate those around me; here, I've been gaining quirkiness from Usa, and a new perspective from Ichi, and freedom to express my nature from my teachers. Sincerity from Tsuchiura-kun. Passion from Len.

Len...I will never forget to quaff life, to receive and give back to music. It is the torch you passed on to me, and I will keep it burning.

Please forgive me, if I let the sadness of my loss pass away, softly, and allow room for new hope to grow. You wouldn't want me to grovel in grief forever, would you? I know you wouldn't. And so, even though it will take years, perhaps, to fully recover, I will nevertheless temper my music with the bittersweetness of knowing you, and there will be one who plays alongside me, there on the stage with scratches that only we, the performers can see.

It is up to us, the performers, to remind the world that emotion is okay, to help them put to unworded understanding their own feelings. I will give back to those who are happy beyond words, to those who cannot speak for mourning, to those who are just beginning life and to those who must end their journey soon.

We sacrifice ourselves before them, like the young dancer from "Le Sacre du Printemps", to touch their hearts, because if we don't, no one else will have the courage to. Here is our unspoken, universal language, that we spend so many years learning to convey, and yet which may be understood by even those who have not even learned to speak.

Forgive me for moving on, for I must, or else waste the experience you passed on to me.

Down below, I can hear Tsuchiura-kun's train pulling in. I wait, with butterflies in my stomach, for him to fight through the multitude of people all coming and going. Patiently, just a few more minutes.

And now, waiting behind the gates, I can see him climbing the stairs, three at a time, luggage and crutches and all, with a wide smile spreading on his face.

_Fine._


	25. Epilogue

Epilogue: A lá Schoenberg

Right! So! Here we are, here's the College, yeah, okay, ooookay...Take a deep breath, Usa, calm yourself down. Heeeep...hoooo...

Okay! Yes! I got in, that makes me very happy, but then again...maybe it's a fluke...maybe I'm not really supposed to be here...after all, I have so much more to learn and...

Wah! Of course I'm not supposed to be here! There's no way I'd get accepted into the Royal College, I'm a really bad musician who doesn't know anything, and I've never had a real teacher before and...

That does it! I'm going back to Japan, definitely! I'll just pack up quickly and take the next plane out, I knew it from the beginning, I'm not good enough, so I'll just go back and become a waitress or something else, because I'm not smart enough to get a job anywhere else, and...

"Excuse me, are you looking for the College? Are you a student?" A voice with a slight French accent comes from above where I am staring moodily at the ground, and I drag out the English that I've spent the last three months stuffing down my throat.

"Yes." Sniff. When the hell did you start crying, Usa? Good-for-nothing...

"Are you okay?"

"Yes." Liar!

"Well, the entrance is right over here."

"Yeah, I know, I'm not stupid."

I look up finally. Oh, shit. He's male, attractive, and is now forever convinced that he's met the rudest person ever to walk the face of the earth. Which I am.

"What instrument do you play?" Trying to be nice, of course. More likely he's looking for my weaknesses.

"Piano."

"Really? That's awesome! I'm a drum major. You must be incredible, though, to get into the piano program here at the Conservatoire. Isn't it like, crazy competitive?"

"Yes." Pride is starting to swell up. "As a matter of fact, the judges said I was one of the best they'd heard all day. I played Chopin's 'Ballade number 3' and Rachmaninoff's 'Etude in E flat minor' and..."

A foggy look is starting to creep over his face. "Ah, sorry," he says awkwardly, "I'm not familiar with those pieces..."

Well, I am extremely intelligent, after all. I wonder if they always allow in these musicians who aren't familiar with the basic repetoire, drum major or not. Probably even some of the piano majors don't, either.

Of course, I've worked so very hard to get in, hours and hours of practice, even more than most piano students. I'm very proud of myself, if I may say so myself.

Oh shit. You're doing it again, Usa. Get yourself together. You can't just swing back and forth between super high and super low. You know that. Get it under control.

"What's your name?" he asks curiously. I notice suddenly, that he is rather well dressed. Very well dressed, I might add. I feel a little uncomfortable next to him, in my grungy jeans and spandex tight black top. Next to his leather-soled shoes and white-and-pink striped linen button-down shirt, I feel like something off the streets of Uganda.

"Usa," I answer. "I'm from Japan," I add, hoping to convince him that "Usa" is a respectable name there.

"Ah. I'm Jacques. I'm from Paris," he says.

And you're gay. Clearly. I feel a little more comfortable as I watch him slyly appraise another tall, dark and handsome guy across the campus.

I can handle gay. At least I won't have friends accusing me of liking him. "Nice to meet you, Jacques."

"You too, Uso."

"Usa."

"Usa. See you round, Usa."

.

Climbing the million flights of stairs up to the practice rooms, I shivered under my thin clothing. It wasn't the fault of the early February wind, creeping through the high Romanesque-arched windows where it couldn't get through the red brick walls.

Another piano student stalked by in her performance-ready red blouse and long black skirt, and I felt the same chill intensify.

I felt her eyes squint at me hostilly, her posture and expression clearly indicating, "This is a Rival. I must dismount her from her high horse."

My lance is not as long as hers, and I know it. A Prokofiev piano sonata, coming in clearly though a practice room door, told me what I already knew. Each of its perfectly timed notes, crystal clear, elegant phrasing, sensitive touch, pounded the message into my brain.

I am no longer the best.

I stand at the bottom of the ladder, looking up at those climbing higher than me, casting unimpressed looks down at me from above.

I sighed as I turned the key in the lock and entered the room, the Yamaha grand shining in the corner, daring and forbidding. I set down my bag, pulled out my music, arranged it carefully on the music stand, and sat down.

What first?

I stretched my fingers, slightly stiff from the cold outside, feeling my inflexible minor-tenth range between first and fifth fingers, wishing my hands were bigger, stronger. The white plastic keys suddenly felt very slick to me.

I hesitated, and then began playing Brahms' Intermezzo in C, op. 119 no.3. It was a light, cheerful tune, one than reminded me of Kahoko, whimsical, changing rhythms and playful melody interlacing the repetitious upper chords and arpessiated lower notes. Ahh...Brahms, you were a genius indeed.

Did I just leave a note out?

I frowned as I backtracked, noting the low A my left hand had slyly glazed over. From the top, then.

Ah, I've got the hang of it now. But...how choppy my phrases feel now? Is my melody really coming out well enough? Should this phrase be softer?

I stopped, sighed again. Maybe it's not a good day for this piece. I'll try something else, then, something slower.

Enter the world of heavy double trills, contrast between slurs and stacattos, steadily building the tension of a hopeless heart. Schubert's Piano Sonata in A minor.

My trills aren't even enough, though. Have I always played this carelessly?

I stopped again, aware that a couple of students were peering in to see "the new one", to compare my skills against theirs. Apparently they were satisfied that I was not a huge threat, because they giggled when I looked up and stole away.

Nothing I play sounds right anymore.

.

It's been a week, and I feel like I haven't made any progress, despite eight hours a day, despite listening to music at every free hour, despite the constant study in the library in the basement.

Oh, I know I'm making progress. I can feel it. The phrases are getting smoother, my attention span is increasing, bit by bit, but it's so slow...And I'm already so far behind.

A tap on the glass. It's a girl I know vaguely, and I realized suddenly that I was probably over my time.

I gathered my sheet music and opened the door, pausing to let her come in.

"How long have you been practicing?" she asked politely.

"Long enough for my tea to get stone cold," I replied gloomily, discovering that my forgotten mug was still sitting squatly on top of the piano cover.

"You should drink it first, then."

"But I don't have anything to do while I'm waiting for it to cool down."

"So practice for a couple of minutes and then drink it."

"But by then I've forgotten it's there," I sighed. She smiled ever so slightly and patted me on the shoulder patronizingly.

"I know how you feel," she said magnaimously. "Those wonderful moments when you're making such wonderful practice, you get so absorbed in your music, and you don't want to stop..."

It used to be that way. Now I just feel like I'm frantically trying to keep up with everyone else.

"Well, have a good practice session," I said, and she nodded as she marched over to the piano with a confident, determined look on her face.

I used to feel that way. What happened?

.

I can't concentrate anymore today. I'll go back to my room and kill some time online.

Games...computer games...Freecell maybe?

Click, click. Cards shuffle.

I'm bored with this already.

Fine, I'll watch a movie then.

Yawn. This is boring, too.

I'll just listen to some music, then. I'm working on this Beethoven piano sonata right now...let's compare Richter's performance to Barenboim's.

Hm. Barenboim's is more subtle, but Richter's is more sensitive. I'll try both when I get back to the practice rooms and see which I like better.

Wait...wasn't I supposed to be relaxing?

...Apparently I've forgotten how to relax. I've driven the thought into my brain, "Must think about music!"...and it obediently complied.

But I can't practice right now. Can't think, can't focus, I have an itchy little animal scurrying around in my brain right now, and nothing seems satisfying. Ravel had "Scarbo" right on the money, and it's hopping around me now, doodling on my jeans and grinning fiestily.

A little message pops up in the corner of my screen.

hey usa, how's london?

I type back, Fantastic!

If only there was a font for sarcasm.

Kahoko types back,

great! do your best, okay

I sigh. She always says that. Tap tap tap.

I'm trying, but nothing's working.

She says,

well just keep trying, okay? progress won't come all at once. thats what tsuchiura-kun always tells me when i feel down.

True. How's he doing?

good except for his leg. i think hes pining for soccer

I don't think that's the only thing he's pining for. Why don't you just call him by his first name for a change?

...not yet

You can't keep waiting forever.

i know

thanks, usa

No problem.

.

It was my first piano lesson since the year or two of hell I sat through in high school. I'd never noticed how much my innards can resemble Alexander's Gordian knot before.

This was worse than a performance. At least I've figured out how to deal with stage fright. Oh, God, what a mess that was. For years and years I was convinced that if you couldn't peform perfectly on stage naturally, there was something wrong with you. By and by I'd figured out that you have to practice to perform just as much as the notes themselves.

But this was an entirely new sort of beast, roaring up at me with bared fangs. Just beyond that door, the heavy wooden door with the plain brass placcard that baldly stated, "Dr. Jo Baker".

Shiver. "Dr." sounds like I'm going in for a lobotomy. I wonder if they'd find anything in there. Probably just a flimsy substance like pink cotton-candy, the result of devoting my mental faculties to daydreaming of castles in the sky.

I wondered what Dr. Baker is like? Old and scowling, like Kumoyama-sensei? Round, red, puffing middle-aged man? I can't really see the College employing a young man. Actually, that would make me more nervous than anything else.

I lifted my hand to knock. Geez, my hands are so tiny! Aren't pianist's fingers supposed to be long and slender, brittle like dry twigs?

From inside came the sound of elegant, striding footsteps. My stomach added a couple of loops. Then the door opened and...

"Ah, you must be Usa. Come in, dear."

Eh?

Dr. Baker smiled at me from behind her marvellously puffed white hair and white starched buttonup shirt with cashmere pink cardigan, tall and graceful and wearing heels all the same. I felt very small and grubby, suddenly, in my normal jeans and sneakers. I didn't even remember what shirt I'd thrown on that morning.

"Please have a seat," as the Vision gestured toward one of the two pianos with long, fluttering hands, and wafted over to the other.

I sat down awkwardly and stared at the 88 keys as though I'd never seen the colors white and black before.

"You seem nervous, my dear." Oh, no, not in the slightest. "You don't need to feel that way, you know. I'm pretty sure I've had every kind of nerves available to the human psyche. Just relax and take a deep breath. One, two, three...and out...one, two, three..."

I breathed accordingly, feeling inordinately dumb.

"All right, sit up a little straighter...that's right. What would you like to play for me today?"

"Ano..." Crumb. No Japanese here, Usa. "Um...what would you suggest?"

She smiled a little and inclined her head. "Whatever makes you happy."

Happy? A happy song? Or a sad song? Something frivolous? Something deep?

I cast around in my memory, trying to figure out something that fit my mood.

I feel like a child right now.

A little girl, shyly hiding her face behind her hair, peeking out to see if other people are looking, judging. And hoping for a friend, just one, even if it's imaginary would be enough, to go skipping with, picking daisies, jumping from rock to rock in the midst of a stream.

I lifted my hands to the keys and started Debussy's "Golliwog's Cakewalk".

And started skipping!

There are no pictures that come to my brain when I play music. I don't even see colors, brightness or darkness. I rely wholely on where the melodies lead my emotions. Does this phrase feel like its ending on a sad note? Ironic? Whimsical? What's the connection between it and the next phrase? What kind of hidden melody is the harmonic basis of the left hand creating?

I dug in with my fingers where I felt like something inside me was snarling, and let the playful notes go by barely touched, just enough for the hammers to hit the strings.

It's always been instinct with me. Until recently.

It used to be, I'd get lucky somedays, and play something smashing, the notes ringing out just right. All the notes would be there. But often it wasn't like that. Nobody ever taught me the "correct" way to practice. No one ever said to me, "Do such and such to get this effect. You'll get more secure by practicing over and over, even when you've already learned the music."

I think kids have some weird ideas about how learning works. Why did it take me so long to realize that if I couldn't do something perfect already, it was okay, that I could work hard to get better? That the more perfect the notes were, the more beauty of individuality I could put into the music?

I've been doing this on my own too long, and here it ends.

Put pride away. Pack it into a wooden crate with sawdust and nail down the boards on top. You won't need it here. Rather, it will only hinder you here.

Dr. Baker listened patiently, even when I stumbled a bit in the middle. I looked up at last, suddenly realizing how fast my heart was beating, but I felt excited. The song had opened up something playful inside of me.

"Very nice, my dear." Damned with faint praise. Lovely. "How long have you been working on this piece?"

"About a month," I admitted, my face heating up. I'd been working on so many pieces recently, trying to play catch-up, trying to absorb Beethoven's sonatas, Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, Chopin's Etudes, all at once, that the smaller pieces hadn't had as much time in between.

She must have deduced this, though, and left the mussed-up bit behind. After all, the notes were already gone. I couldn't call them back up and correct them. Just leave them and learn from them. "You have a very unusual touch. Normally students come to me with perfect technique and expect me to inject musicality into them. With you it's the opposite."

"Sorry." I looked away, embarassed, until I felt a very light touch on my shoulder.

"Technique can be acquired with hard work and patience," she said as I met her eyes. "Musicality comes from within. You've studied a lot of theory, haven't you? Composition, perhaps?"

Right again. "Yes."

She smiled a little triumphantly. "Someday, I think, you'll learn to appreciate how much of an advantage this gives you. But for today, let's work on technique. To begin with, your left hand was much too heavy during these sections..."

And she started to demonstrate with those long, delicate hands.

But what do the hands matter? My ears are just as good. I'll make my little hands duplicate that sound.

One thing at a time.

As patient as Kahoko.

.

There's a couple making out, standing in the middle of the subway train, not caring if anyone sees.

I know I shouldn't stare, but I can't help it.

I wonder if there will ever be anyone to like me?

I snorted. Yeah, right. Boddhistvas don't marry. I can't think of anyone else with enough patience for the almighty Me.

Maybe it's better this way.

Because now the stage is clearer, standing there before me. I'm going to have to work harder than before if I want to make it.

Yukuri, yukuri.

Day by day. Night by night. Every day I will improve, slowly, though progress may be slow, though it will take ages to catch up.

I have a secret weapon, you see.

Nobody's forcing me to do this. I have no one's expectations to live up to except my own.

I'm doing it because I love music, and that's all the incentive I need.

The Rachmaninoff Etude is coming along, finally. I played it through slowly, once more before going to bed, making sure each note was perfect, so that next time I played it I would have the memory of that controlled beauty.

I'm becoming better friends with the Erard, upright though it may be. I hate having people peer over my shoulder in the practice rooms, to compare their technique to mine, or simply to remind me that I'm going over my time limit. Sometimes, it's just more comfortable to be here.

Alone. In my cluttered apartment. Books queing on the floor for the crowded bookshelves. Another simple meal, half-finished, on the single-chaired table. A bouquet of already-fading flowers I bought myself to remind me that at least one person in the world cares.

Shit, I miss having a roommate, ditzy and absentminded, thinking about love rather than music.

My phone buzzed, and I checked it hurriedly. One new message from Kahoko.

Hey! I hope you're doing well in London!

Just wanted to let you know, Ryou may be a terrific accompanist, but he's way meaner than you.

Take care.

-Kaho

I smile a little grimly to myself. "Ryou", huh? Well, ain't that convenient. Oh, I shouldn't judge. I pushed her into it as much as anyone else. But...you know?

You know? I feel sorry for Tsuchiura.

Sure, he got the girl at the end. Sure, perseverence paid off. Okay, he "won", if you will.

But everytime she sighs, everytime she smiles wistfully, or looks off unseeing into the distance, he'll know what she's thinking about. He'll know that her mind is wandering off, to what was, or what might have been. And he won't be there in that daydream.

A hollow victory, if you ask me.

**Author's Notes: **

The end! Finally! Yeah, this is a strange place to leave off. I feel like the last chapter has more of a "finished feeling", but I wanted to give a bit of Usa's brain to you, unmined ore that it may be.

Sorry for not responding to reviews (again)! Life is a bit crazy for me right now...travelling can suck the life out of you, even though it's totally amazing in the end.

I am, as of now, working on a sequel! And back in the States at last! So we'll see how that goes...I will try very hard to keep updating weekly. I don't see the next story being as (quote) "epic" or philosophical as this one. It will have loads of Kaho/Ryou, quite a bit of action, mystery, intrigue...a different genre altogether, if I may say so. I hope it's not as much of a let-down as most sequels are.

**Update: The sequel is being written now. Title: The Secret of the Guarneri. Updated Saturday evenings.**  
(Don't worry, it's not nearly as depressing as this one.)

Thanks for reading! Watashi wa honto ni ureshii da yo!

Ja ne!


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